


make it to me

by cthink



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Banding, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gen, Insecurity, M/M, Multi, OT4, Other, Sexual Tension, calum's pov, dudes being dudes, lots of it lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthink/pseuds/cthink
Summary: Calum is in a band. Now, this band consists of three other people who he considers his best friends—no more, no less. They're all bandmates. Straight, "no homo", hetero bandmates (fragile masculinity included and all). Or, at least, that's what he thinks, until he finds two of them sucking eachothers' faces off in the toilet of a shitty club. Cue sexuality crisis.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I'm back with this shitstorm :))  
> Who knows what this is or where it's going, but I realised I haven't got any ot4 works, and I really fucking love ot4.  
> Anyway, I really hope at least someone likes this haha  
> Title taken from Make It To Me by Sam Smith. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :))

__"Cal..."

He doesn't look up from where his nose is buried in his notebook, pen slipping through his sweaty fingertips in the midday LA heat, where despite the ridiculous temperature, he's still bundled up under a quilt—just for comfort.

Calum hears Ashton pad into the room, feels the dip of the bed where he plops down next to him, fingertips just brushing Calum's thigh where his hand is under the sheets, sending shivers running marathons down his spine. He still doesn't look up, though.

"Ca-lum...." Ashton drones, leaning forward to peer over the top of the notebook, trying to sneak a peak at whatever he's just scribbled down. Calum just frowns, pulling it closer to his chest and out of Ashton's reach, still avoiding making eye contact like the plague.

"I'm bored," Ashton huffs, and Calum internally rolls his eyes. He knows better than to believe that; knows Ashton well enough to know that this whole act is just a ploy to cheer Calum up, or to break him out of whatever little melodramatic rut he's accidentally slipped into.

"Not my problem," he mumbles, pen flying across the page, and Ashton sighs heavily.

"Fine," he wrings his hands, and the exasperation and disappointment in his voice is enough to make Calum cringe, the pen coming to a screeching halt half way along a line, "I get it. You need some space."

Calum finally looks up at him, hopes the apology is clear and shining in his eyes, but Ashton isn't looking at him anymore, and Calum has no choice but to reach out and grab his wrist as he rises from the bed—he can't let Ashton just leave like this—he isn't sure he'd be able to bear the uncomfortable silence when he's finally forced to go downstairs for food later that day, or when they're watching TV together before bed. Ashton glances back at him over his shoulder, surprise evident in the slight quirk of his eyebrow.

"Sorry..." Calum whispers guiltily, the lump in his throat limiting him from talking any louder. Ashton just shrugs, like it's nothing, tucking his hand into his pocket the moment Calum realises he's been holding on for too long and lets go.  
"Whatever," he shrugs again, but Calum can hear the jagged hurt in the usual smoothness of Ashton's voice, "I just wish you'd talk to me."

Calum's stunned silent at that, so he just sort of ogles at Ashton, until the older boy scoffs in disbelief, definitely angry, and leaves the room at twice the pace he entered it. Calum watches him go, helpless, and he wishes for all the world that he wasn't so confused.

It's just—everything's always just a little bit too much, and sometimes, for some reason, Calum's feelings just take a little extra understanding. He puts it down to stress of touring, really, and the near enough constant tiredness, as well as the constant travelling—but not even Calum understands himself, let alone anyone else. Lately, shutting himself away seems like the easiest option—the answer to everything—although he knows it's anything but.

He looks down at the paper, and sighs: he's written nothing useful, it's all just random (almost illegible) scribbles which could never be formulated into proper lyrics even if he tried. Shutting it, his eyes feel heavy all of a sudden, but the weight of Ashton's words and disappointment weighs far heavier on him.

He can't blame Ashton for getting annoyed at him—can't blame anyone—he's a difficult person sometimes, and he knows it. He can't help it that he feels like he's irritating Ashton with everything he does, though, or how much he misses spending every single day with Michael, or how much he wishes Luke were nearby to laugh at every single one of his poor jokes. Sometimes, he just misses the way things _used_ to be.

It starts with a kiss, really—one that Calum isn't even directly involved in, himself.

That evening, after Calum's managed to break the ice between him and Ashton with a few well-timed jokes and the proposition of a walk around, together, of course Ashton suggested they go out with Luke and Michael and some of their friends. Calum should've known Ashton would use the situation to his full advantage, and, really—unless he wants things to go back to the way they were that morning, he has no choice but to accept.

Ashton pretends like their previous and painfully brief conversation never happened; although Calum knows that it's probably best not to leave things unresolved, he's eternally grateful. He doesn't give the older man enough credit.

The last thing he wants is to go out, at the minute, but he can't deny he's more than open to the promise of seeing the other two, again—it's only been a day or two, and they have a show here tomorrow, but Calum can't help but feel like something is out of place the minute they're apart. He puts it down to these people being the only real constants in his life for the best part of five years. Ashton tells him Ashley is going to be there, too, and Calum's undeniably excited about that, no matter how much he'd rather just stay in all night with Netflix and comfort food from the fridge—she's always sort of understood him, in a way—never pushes him too hard but knows exactly what to say and when to say it. She can be loud when she wants to be, and other times, she just observes, but she never fails to somehow know almost exactly what's going through Calum's mind at any given moment. It should be disconcerting, but it isn't. While he hasn't known her as long as the others, he may as well have with how well they go together. He could never think of her as anything more than a great friend, but he's sure she'd say exactly the same. In fact, she's more of a big sister to him whenever Mali can't be there.

"You nearly ready, bro?" Ashton calls, just as Calum's finishing tying his shoelaces. He shouts back an affirmation, but doesn't move from the bed.

He's still tired—feels like he doesn't have the physical energy, let alone willpower, to stand up and walk out of the room without collapsing. His nerves are shot, and he has to force himself not to look down at his hands like he has been doing extensively over the past few days (or weeks), because he knows they'll still be shaking like he's had twenty consecutive cups of coffee.

They go the the Nice Guy (of course they do, it's like LA nightlife excluding the place is virtually non-existent), and while it takes Calum a while to get used to the sweatiness of his palms and pounding of the music, he welcomes the familiarity. Michael and Luke are already there, and Michael's talking animatedly to a group of people Calum only vaguely recognises, bottle of beer already in hand. He can tell by the way his best friend is swaying on the spot that he's already tipsy, but Ashton seems far more offended than Calum that Michael started with out them, making a point by snatching Michael's own beer straight out of his hand and finishing it off.

Calum snickers, but it's cut short when he feels a smaller hand on his shoulder, jumping him, only for him to turn around to a shock of bright cyan hair and a blinding smile in the fluorescent, flashing lights.  
"Hey, curly," Ashley chuckles, ruffling his hair where the humidity of the club has already reduced it to its natural form. Calum blushes but smiles back nonetheless.  
"Hey....bluey?" He trails off awkwardly, but she just laughs, eyes crinkling as she hands him one of the beers she held.  
"How've you been?" She asks easily, leaning back against the bar to observe the rest of the club, as he'd previously been doing alone, elbows propped behind her.  
"Good," he replies in a voice far more monotonous than intended; despite his best wishes, there wasn't a chance in hell she missed it.  
She tilts her head to the side, taking a quick sip of her drink, like she doesn't quite believe him—but as always, she doesn't press on.  
"You?" He continues after a brief silence, sending her an easy smile as he sips from his own bottle, holding back a wince when he realises how long it's been since he'd actually had a drop of alcohol on his tongue—he didn't ever have time to go out, really—at least, that was his excuse.  
"Peachy," she returned, brushing back a loose strand of hair. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever".

The words are true enough, but he doesn't fail to miss the mischievous glint in her bright eyes.

"Yeah, I dunno," he mutters, ducking his head as he circles a finger loosely around the rim of the bottle, "just been busy, I guess."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Writing, doin' stuff with Ashton," he explains, relieved when she happily seizes the opportunity to change the subject.

"Oh yeah! How's that been? Living with drummer boy over there, I mean," she throws her head over her shoulder in Ashton's direction; he's nestled in with Luke into a booth, chatting with whoever it is sat opposite them, and despite the blaring music, Calum can hear Ashton's laugh as he throws his head back from half way across the club. His heart flutters a little bit in his chest, but he ignores it.

"Good...I mean, _great_ , really—it's nice having a place that's yours, y'know?"

"But....?"

Calum sighed. He'd tried to leave it unspoken, really, but transparency had always been one of his major faults.

"I...don't know. I love Ashton—I mean, _duh_ , but....it feels like something's... _missing_?"

"Yeah, I get it," she nodded, "it'll probably just take a bit of getting used to. I mean, you're so used to calling Australia home, right?"

He nodded, resisting the urge to add the fact he already considered Ashton home—considered Michael and Luke home, too—so evidently that wasn't the problem.

"You wanna go outside for a bit?" Ashley suggested after a while, shaking the packet of Marlboros she'd just pulled from the pocket of her leather jacket.  
He considered it briefly, chewing his lip—he was tempted, but they _had_ only just arrived...he shook his head.  
"No, thanks. No use moping all evening."  
She grinned at him, "I'm glad you agree. Come on, let's go dance."  
He rolled his eyes, but let her lead him onto the floor anyway.

Later in the evening, when Calum's had _far_ too much to drink—more than usual—and he's lost sight of Ashley and all the others, the music becomes just a little too loud, and the hot and heavy thrum of the sea of bodies he's drowning in just a little too powerful. The room is spinning a little bit, and there's a girl behind him, dancing, so close that her long dark hair is sticking to him. He barely had his wits about him, but he was aware enough to know that the large crowd was beginning to feel more than a little claustrophobic.

He felt an arm snake around his middle, wrapping its way around his waist as another clambered up to his chest, long fingernails just nicking at the skin of his throat, and it felt more like she was about to murder him instead of anything else. The next thing he knew, there was a mouth attached to his throat from behind, and that was enough for him—he pushed the girl off of him as politely as he could manage, beginning to shoulder his way towards where he knew the toilets were located. While he was drunk out of his mind, they'd been there enough times before that it was practically muscle memory, at this point.

Snagging a quick shot from the bar on his way past, Calum downed it quickly, sloppily, staggering his way past the heaving hordes of people, his feet barely cooperating with his head.

In all honesty, he wasn't even sure how he made it to the toilets alive, but sure enough, he was pushing open the wooden door right before emptying the contents of his stomach into the first sink he saw, hardly even acknowledging the other people in there.

What had tasted bitter going down tasted even worse coming back up, and Calum grimaced, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand once he was done, eyes watering as he blinked up at himself in the mirror. He could barely make out his face with the way his vision repeatedly blurred and double-crossed, but he was sure he looked a mess anyway.

He stayed there, hunched over the sink for a bit, forearms braced on the counter, and he quickly jammed the taps on, if only to drown out the awful chart music playing outside. It was only then that he became aware of the eerie silence of the bathroom, and a presence to his left—felt someone, or maybe even more than one, watching him, and he turned to face them—only to throw up into the sink some more.

Ashton was against the wall, eyes wide and horrified as he watched Calum, held there by none other than fucking Michael, who looked equally as shocked, hand frozen where it'd snaked its way down the front of the older boy's jeans.

The image swam in his mind as confused tears fogged his vision once more, and he straightened up again and stared right back, too shocked and confused and maybe a bit scared to actually move—to do the decent thing and leave, pretend like he'd never even seen anything. Only he had—he'd seen his two best friends pinned up against each other, necks littered with colourful bruises and their crotches pressed up together.

Ashton shifts, quickly pulling Michael's hand away, but neither of them look away from Calum, watching his every movement like they were scared of frightening a wild animal.

The terrifying silence drags on for a few more painful moments, before Calum blinks, an indistinguishable mess of words rolling off his tongue, making the other two flinch although he hasn't actually said anything that made sense. His tongue refuses to cooperate with his addled brain, so he tries again.

"You...wha' th' _fuck?"_

Michael coughs uncomfortably, staring at the ground, and then the reality of the situation finally catches up to him.

Calum mumbles out what's supposed to be an apology before shooting out of the door, back into the fray of the club, tears blurring his already fuzzy vision entirely as he stumbles straight through a group of people, ignoring their angry shouts as he thunders on, with eyes only for the exit. It's a Green Day song blasting through the speakers, now, which only makes Calum think of Michael....he has to get out.

He's embarrassed and confused and nothing makes any _sense_.

He's almost there, hip bumping on the corner of a table as he speeds up, and he can see the promising gap in the wall which means escape, can hear the honk of car horns outside—right before there's a strong pair of hands on his shoulders, spinning him around so brown watery eyes meet sparkling and considerably _beautiful_ blue—and Calum breaks down.

"Woah, woah, Cal," Luke says, concerned, but Calum barely hears him. "Calum!" Luke yells over the music, but Calum just lets the tears roll down his cheeks as he struggles to break free of Luke's hold, desperate for the exit. He just wants to leave. He wants to go home. His heart feels like it's shattered in his chest, but how can it be, really, if he wasn't even in love in the first place? And that just begs the main question— _is_ he in love? And if so...who with? He's jealous, and he doesn't know who he's jealous of, and in his current state, it feels like his head is going to _explode_.

"Where's Ash and Mike?" Luke asks suddenly, snapping Calum out of it, but it just brings fresh drunken tears to his eyes as he tries to get it across to Luke that he has to get out, and Luke just shakes his head and gives in, leading Calum towards the exit, using his broad frame to almost shield him. Whilst Calum vaguely picks up on the scent of alcohol on the taller boy, he's clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as Calum himself.

He sighs in shaky relief as the cold air hits him, shocking him back to his senses a little, but the scene still plays on repeat at the forefront of his mind.

Luke sticks close by him, a constant blurry, worried presence at his side, an arm wrapped gently around his shoulders. Although Luke's only a little taller than him, Calum can't help but feel so _small_ ; it's so easy to just allow himself to be held. The pavement beneath him is still spinning, and the bitter acidic taste still lingers on his tongue, but he feels better than he did in there.

"I'm gonna get an Uber, okay?" Luke asks carefully, and Calum just stares numbly at him. He thinks Luke looks pretty out here, his blond hair falling in waves across his forehead, silver necklace glinting in the moonlight and the bright shine from oncoming traffic.

He doesn't really feel it, but Luke smoothes back some of his curls where they're plastered to his forehead, and the action reminds him of Ashley, right from the start of the evening, and he finds himself wishing she were nearby, too.

"Shouldn't be too long, now."

Calum nods along, like he understands everything Luke's saying. In reality, his words just went in one ear, and straight out the other.

It feels like forever—sitting there, waiting on the pavement, shivering as the cold starts to seep through his t-shirt—but before he knows it, Luke's pulling him to his feet and bundling him carefully into the back of a car, moving in next to him and putting his seatbelt on for him.

He thinks he throws up again when he gets home—he doesn't exactly remember—but he remembers Luke taking his shoes off for him, and his jeans, and tucking him into his bed like he's still a kid, but most of all, he remembered not caring one bit.

All he could think about was Michael and Ashton, pressed together with swollen lips and ruffled hair and blown pupils, and how they'd been so _scared_ when they'd realised he'd caught them—and then Luke, so unfittingly worried, like he _knew_ something had gone wrong—and Calum felt that feeling again. That feeling of something big missing; the feeling of being unaware of something _important_.

Most of all though, he realised how tired he felt, and as soon as the lights were out and the world stopped spinning as it was plunged into darkness, Calum slipped away into utter oblivion.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!!  
> Honestly thank you all so so much for all the love I got on the first chapter, I was not expecting that at all and I adore you all <3  
> I'm really excited to see where this goes, and most of all, I hope you enjoy :)

The first thing he sees when he slowly cracks his eyes is a glass of water on his bedside table, the sunlight streaming in through the slats in his blinds illuminating every air bubble, as they swirl around and pop up to the surface.

Calum lies there watching them, tiredly, watching the pattern the water makes on the wooden surface of the table, watching the way the foil packet of aspirin next to the glass glistens too.

His head is pounding, and there's a horrible taste in his mouth, and he's worried because he barely even remembers going out last night.

The longer he lays there, curled up under his duvet (a favourite position of Drunk Calum's, he's figured out, which only serves to make him feel vulnerable when he wakes up the following morning), the more disgusting he realises he is, especially with the revelation that he's still wearing last night's clothes.

He figures Ashton must've left the water and pills for him at some point as he reluctantly reaches out from his warm cocoon to grab them, taking them both quickly. His head spins as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and he groans, taking a minute to regain himself before he finally gets up, and socked feet meet hard wooden floor.

Calum despises mornings like this—hates not being able to remember what happened, hates the way bile still lingers at the back of his throat, hates the way his eyelids feel like they've been permanently weighted, hates the way he can't focus on anything for too long before his searing migraine comes back with a vengeance.

He shuffled into the bathroom slowly, brushing his teeth before anything else, if only so he doesn't feel quite so vile. Breakfast isn't really an option with his somewhat delicate stomach, at the moment.

He looks up into the mirror after he spits, and a strange sense of de ja vu overcomes him as he takes in his bed hair, and his bloodshot eyes, and the way it almost looks like there's....tear-tracks, running down his cheeks. Calum's never been an emotional drunk, but it would explain why his eyes are stinging like his head was dunked into a bucket of chlorine.

And then it hits him like a truck.

 _Everything_. How could he forget?

He sees Ashton's wide hazel eyes, sees Michael's alarmed green ones, sees the purple stains of passion littering smooth skin and Ashton's arms thrown over Michael's shoulders and it's all with such impossible clarity considering how completely off his ass he must've been last night—and he's struggling not to throw up all over again. He remembers that, too—throwing up at just the sight of two of his band mates, his best friends, merged together in such a way—and his cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment.

Panic. Ashton can only be a few rooms away. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to calm down if only to try and figure out what the fuck is going on.

Were Ashton and Michael even...gay? Well, yes, obviously they were _something_ (clearly not as straight as Calum had thought), but...for each _other?_ Calum resists the urge to gag. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted it gone, gone from his memory so he could pretend like it never even happened. So everything could just return to how it was before.

So that maybe, he didn't have to feel so _hurt_.

And what reason did he have to be hurt, really? None. Ashton was his friend. Michael was his friend. Calum pushed it down, right to the depths of his mind where he hid everything unwanted, trying to remove the image that'd seemingly burnt itself into the forefront of his conscience.

He heaved in a deep, shaky breath, trying desperately to maintain his composure—but fuck, was it difficult. Calum had seen Ashton with an endless amount of girls, and Michael, too—never each other. How long had this been going on? Was it a one night thing or longer?

When were they going to tell Calum? Or were they even planning on telling him at _all?_

Did _Luke_ know?

His head spinning again, his hand skidded along the surface of the counter where he'd been holding himself up but had slipped, knocking an array of bottles onto the floor, rolling around on the tiles as he fell against the wall with a disgruntled groan. His aftershave shattered on impact into dozens of tiny pieces.

Like his _heart_ —fuck, no, shit, his heart _wasn't_ broken. It wasn't. He was fine. He could deal with this. And, anyway, he was _straight_ —of course his heart wasn't _broken_ , he was just...in shock.

He looked in dismay at the mess around him, his toothbrush having landed on the opposite side of the room, the spilt aftershave leaking through the grooves of the tiles, and it didn't take long before the pungent smell was overpowering and Calum had to abandon his attempt at cleaning up the mess halfway through, quickly ducking out of the en suite and shutting the door behind him.

"Cal?"

His blood froze in his veins. He stopped, suddenly, and he could hear Ashton. Coming towards his room. He panicked, turning around to dive back into the bathroom, or something, but before he could escape, the door opened, and there stood Ashton. His hazel eyes looked tired, rimmed with red, but he looked far more presentable than Calum, having showered and actually dressed into some clean clothes.

Calum blinked at him, blankly, his mouth hanging open and shutting again as he struggled to find the words to say. Did he bring up last night? Or pretend it never happened? He knew what Ashton would do.

"Morning," he croaked, suddenly, voice still rough, cracking halfway through and making both of them wince. Evidently, Ashton still remembered, if the way he refused to look Calum directly in the eye was anything to go by. Of course Ashton remembered—maybe he did it often enough that it was just a given, at this point. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I, uh...thought I heard something," Ashton muttered, hand flying up to scratch the nape of his neck, fingers ruffling his curls briefly like he always did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. It set Calum painfully on edge.   
"Oh, yeah, I slipped," Calum explained sheepishly, holding open the door to the bathroom, and watching as Ashton wrinkled his nose before coughing loudly, gesturing quickly for Calum to it.

"God, what's that smell?" He choked, and Calum laughed, loud and nervous and ridiculous.   
"My aftershave smashed, the one that....Michael...got me..."

His smile faded halfway through his sentence as he remembered everything all over again, but it was too late to take it back—Ashton already looked like he was on the verge of _tears_.

"Ashton, I-"  
"Oh, yes, I remember," Ashton blurted out all of a sudden, shaky and rushed, before Calum could say anymore—before he could continue his poor excuse for an apology, desperate to relieve the tension between them. He wasn't sure if, in all his years of knowing Ashton, he'd ever felt quite so uncomfortable and _jittery_ around him. All he'd ever been with the eldest was at ease—and Calum was eager to keep it that way. The shift in the natural order of things had him even more on edge than usual, but he could probably say the same for Ashton, if the way the curly haired boy had been consistently twisting his fingers since the moment he'd opened the door was anything to go by.

"Anyway, I'd better go..." Ashton trailed off, gesturing to nothing in particular behind him, turning away like he couldn't think of an adequate excuse.   
"Ash, please-" Calum pleaded, but Ashton didn't turn back around.   
"Gotta go," he mumbled as he rushed off, away from Calum, and Calum watched him leave in complete dismay.

He'd watched Ashton's resolve crumble in front of him, and he wasn't even sure why—what did Ashton have to be upset about? Was Calum really _never_ supposed to have found out? It wasn't like Ashton felt guilty about anything, because he didn't have anything to feel guilty about...it only succeeded in bringing about a fresh pang of _hurt_.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, wandering back over to his bed where his phone had been left on the bedside table, and thoughtfully plugged in to charge overnight by Luke.

He woke up to none of his usual texts from Michael after a night out, and nothing from Luke, either—only a few texts here and there which he couldn't bring himself to care about.

When Calum locks it and flops back down onto his bed, he's overwhelmed by a crushing sense of uncertainty. The inevitable fear of... _what now?_

The next few days pass by almost the same as they usually do. The next time Calum sees Ashton, Ashton is quick to make easy conversation with no risk of it drifting towards whatever had happened the previous night, and despite his hatred for letting things go unresolved, Calum easily accepts it, not willing to bring it back up when, for some unknown reason, the idea of his two best friends practically _fucking_ behind his back still feels like a _betrayal_.

Michael, too, pretends like nothing ever happened—either that, or he'd forgotten about it completely—which was a high possibility, especially considering he'd already been pissed before Calum and Ashton had even arrived. Calum watched him carefully—treating him as usual, but observing—for any giveaway in Michael's teasing or general conversation that there was _something_ there...that Calum wasn't just formulating and exaggerating all these crazy ideas in his head. Had Michael's hand been there? Or had it just been a friendly conversation that Calum's drunken mind had sorely misinterpreted? With no one to actually talk to about it, he felt as if he was losing his mind (with the way Ashton was constantly side-eyeing him, he may as well have been).

As for Luke, well...something in the dynamic there had shifted. Luke watched over him like a hawk, to the point where it would almost have been slightly _invasive_ , were they not as close as family. He offered to room with him in hotels, rode with him in cars, filled the empty spaces next to him on dressing room couches—either like he was protecting him from something, or protecting something from _him_.

That didn't go to say that Luke didn't interact with the other two just as much as he always did, though—still stroking Michael's hair, snuggling up to Ashton on the tour bus.

And there was another new issue—Calum always had to formulate some shitty excuse to exit the room the minute any type of contact between his band mates was initiated, because, since that night, he could only see it as something so much _more_ than a mere friendly gesture.

Even the brush of someone's elbow against another's arm as they walked next to each other had Calum choking on nothing and forcing himself to look away—it was beyond ridiculous, but with that explosive scene still plastering itself across his conscience, it was impossible to see it any other way.

For the most part, though, things remained the same.

At least, that is, until they played Mexico City.

It's hotter in Mexico than anywhere else they've been so far, Calum thinks—but honestly, that's probably just his nerves again. He's particularly jumpy this show, and keeps his head down for most of soundcheck—lets the others do the talking and instead of contributing, focuses on the feeling of Luke's forearm pressed up against his own, grounding himself.

He suspects how unsettled he feels has something to do with it being the last show of this leg of the tour—he's a little melancholy, perhaps—but most of all, it's the brief five day break he's dreading in between this and the Australian leg. It's been alright so far, because ever since the _incident_ , as Calum's so delicately named it, they've all been together, or there's at least been other people or a camera around. If any one of them splits off from the rest, though, he's worried it's going to upset the entire balance of things that he's tried so hard to maintain—like a car that suddenly loses one of its wheels and goes careering off the road, and rolls, _and crashes, and everyone inside the car dies, and it's catastrophic_ —....but he also maybe really needs a break.

Even more so, when Michael corners him before they're due to go onstage.

It's in one of the quieter corridors of the venue Calum had to walk through to get to the toilets, so it's just the two of them alone—and honestly, it would've been extremely creepy, were it someone other than his oldest friend. The minute he sees Michael round the corner up ahead and start walking towards him, his heart skips a beat, but he forces himself to remain calm, offering Michael what he hopes looks like a casual raise of the eyebrows—and he's sure he's gotten away with it, the end of the corridor is so within reach—until Michael grabs his arm the second they walk past each other.

Calum jumps, which definitely does not seem casual, but all Michael offers him is a strange look, and a slight tilt of his head, like he can't quite _understand_ Calum at that moment—which is worrying, considering they've been practically inseparable for the majority of twelve years.

"Are you going to tell me what's up?" Michael frowns, his hand remaining a gentle constant on Calum's elbow—which should be comforting, but only serves to send his heart into overdrive, the touch like a scalding burn to his skin.

"N-nothing," Calum says, his voice an octave too high to be convincing, not to mention the unfortunate stutter. He can feel Michael's green eyes boring into him knowingly, and he really wishes he could look away.

"Unless you've developed a sudden speech impediment you haven't told any of us about, something tells me you're lying," Michael teases, and Calum slaps his hand away, with a slight laugh. Michael's frown softens at that, the corners of his lips twitching up, but now he just looks more concerned instead of imploring. Calum isn't sure which look he prefers.

"You're not still hung up on me and Ashton, are you?"

Calum stops breathing and chokes on air all at once, and all of the blood in his body seems to rush up to his cheeks, and his heart feels like it's being electrocuted at a thousand volts a second, it's hammering so hard in his chest—and Michael has the audacity to just look _confused_ , like he doesn't understand why Calum looks like he wants the ground beneath them to swallow him up, and— _fuck_.

"I-uh-you-" he splutters, and Michael's eyebrow quirks effortlessly.

The problem is, he doesn't _understand_. He hadn't realised Michael even remembered what had happened, let alone expected him to have the resolve or nerve to just bring it up like casual, everyday _chit-chat_. Like it _wasn't_ something that Calum had been losing sleep over every night without fail, or like it didn't intrude on almost _every single waking moment_ of his. Like it was something completely normal, to get off with one of your band mates, and then expect everyone to just be fucking _cool_ with it.

"I don't....are you two, like....a _thing_?" His mouth is so dry he struggles to get the words out, but when Michael opens his mouth to reply, Calum carries on—because he's waited so fucking _long_ for this—an opportunity to try and make at least _some_ sense of whatever he's missed (because evidently, he's missed something _big_ ). "Like, I mean, it's cool if you're...like, _gay_ , or....or  _together_ , or whatever-"

"Cal-"

"Stage call!"

He physically has to clamp down on his bottom lip to stop himself from _whining_.

Michael shakes his head sympathetically, and it helps to ease his nerves a little, because maybe Michael _does_ understand—to some extent.   
"Just- come to my room later, alright? We'll talk then," Michael smiles, and Calum just blinks at him, before Michael's setting off in the direction of the stage like nothing even happened. He waits there a second longer, standing idly in the middle of the corridor with his arms hanging loosely by his sides—and he still feels just as confused as he did before Michael approached him—but it's something.

After the show. Later. It's a _promise_ , and one that he can wait for. One that he _has_ to wait for, if he wants any clarity.

With his heart still thumping in his chest and his thoughts spinning wildly out of control, Calum follows Michael to the stage.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter wooooooo  
> I'm SO sorry this chapter is a tad late, I've just had a bit of a hectic week and I went to see tøp at the weekend and it was fucking wonderfullllllll  
> There is also a slight TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter because of a panic attack, pls be safe my children :3  
> Anyways, I really really hope you enjoy this because I absolutely love writing it, and don't forget to let me know what you thought!! X

That show, Calum's energy seems to at least triple, despite how he was feeling earlier—all lethargy suddenly vanished with the possibility of....something. Calum isn't sure quite what Michael's going to tell him, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited at the prospect of finally not feeling so crazy anymore.

He gives it his all—absorbs the roaring buzz of the crowd and the feeling of the music vibrating through every inch of him, the sweat beading on his forehead under the hot blinding lights—focuses on the way Luke's voice goes high at the end of his notes sometimes, or how Ashton's muscles are glistening with perspiration as he creates an impossibly fast rhythm that Calum somehow always falls perfectly in sync with, how Michael's eyes are still so brilliantly green even over the opposite side of the stage.

If anyone's slightly less energetic than usual, it's Luke. The whole performance he shoots Calum strange looks, and Calum spots him more than once side-eyeing Michael, trying to catch his attention in between songs. A lump rises in Calum's throat, but he ignores it.

His fingers slide over the strings in the encore easily; his hands aren't shaking like usual, but the almost gravitational pull towards the others seems magnified, and he's constantly making his way all over the stage to do some stupid little dance that makes the fans scream, and he feels the energy rush through him like a tidal wave.

Maybe the couple of drinks he had before the show has something to do with the constant thrum of adrenaline and energy, too.

When the final bow comes, Calum stiffens when he feels Michael's hand come to rest over his own where it's planted on Luke's firm back, but then immediately relaxes, and can't help but smile a little to himself at the feeling of Michael's soft fingers brushing lightly, delicately, over his skin as they all break apart.

Backstage, his fingers twitch restlessly over the rim of his cup, watching the amber golden liquid inside ripple in the white light of the dressing room, chin resting on his chest where he's sunken in next to Ashton on the sofa, so close Calum can feel the heat radiating off of his body, part of his post-show glow. He keeps a careful eye on Michael, but the older boy doesn't look at him once. Calum just puts it down to him being discreet, despite knowing Michael far better than that. He already has a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

The entire way back to the hotel, Calum is haunted with a harrowing uncertainty, that maybe—just maybe—it's nothing. He's blown everything out of proportion, and now he's messed with the dynamic of the entire group. He's made things uncomfortable and awkward, and whilst at the time he found Michael's trivialisation of the issue absolutely unbelievable, maybe he was right. Maybe it was stupid that he was still hung up on something that happened between two drunk friends—something Calum couldn't even properly remember.

Ashton runs his fingers through Calum's hair, still damp and curly with perspiration, on the elevator ride up, whilst Luke stands idly on his phone, and Michael sniggers at them where he's leant against the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest. He hadn't realised, but he was almost dropping off where he was standing, his eyelids drooping and limbs aching after exerting himself completely back on the stage, underneath the lights and in the focus of a thousand cameras.

He wills himself to stay awake, though, and not just kick off his shoes and drop onto his bed as soon as he's got his keycard in the door and shut it behind him—because once he's sure Luke and Ashton are firmly back inside their own rooms, he's going to find Michael, and he's going to finally get to the bottom of everything.

Relationship, or one night stand? Mistake, or real? Sex, or.... _love_.

Michael's room is a corridor away due to some booking error, and so Calum ambles slowly (perhaps a little tipsily) down through the rows of doors, with no sign of Luke or Ashton anywhere. He's sure that even if he were to accidentally bump into them, he'd be able to think of some convincing excuse as to why he was visiting Michael's room at nearly half past midnight—maybe.

Michael's corridor is, again, almost completely abandoned aside for the elderly couple at the opposite end—but that only serves to make Luke's voice so much louder. Luke's voice, and Michael's voice, too, both coming from inside Michael's room.

Calum freezes where his fist was raised to knock on Michael's door, the anger in Luke's voice and the pure desperation in Michael's seeping through the wood and chilling him to the bone.

He feels his heart skip a beat, followed by the heavy dismay that settles in his bones.

He knows he should leave—he's intruding, and clearly on a particularly sensitive subject—but he just can't help himself when he leans a little closer to the door to listen in (he came for answers, and he wasn't leaving empty handed). He needn't have bothered, though—not with the way their voices continued to grow louder with every passing second.

"So this is why he's been acting weird lately?" Luke asks, his voice incredulous and disbelieving, even though Calum has yet to find out who they're referring to.

Calum doesn't catch a response, but with the way Luke scoffs angrily an instant later, he can practically see the way Michael probably just shrugged.

"And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me?"

"It wasn't important, Luke, he—"

"Calum," Luke interjects with a tone of correction, snappy, and Calum feels his blood run cold. They're talking about him.

They're talking about _him_.

His mind is screaming for him to run and leave before he hears any more of the harsh words which were never intended for his ears, but his legs have different plans, keeping him firmly glued to the spot.

"Yes, _Calum_ ," Michael says exasperatedly, "Calum's our friend. I'm sure he'd understand."

"Are you telling me you haven't noticed how quiet he's been? He's probably flipping his shit, Mike—I mean, fuck, can you blame him? I know I'd be—"

"You're making this into too big a deal, Luke."

So Luke knew. Calum's heart is hammering away in his chest, and he's struggling to hear what's being said over the deafening roar of blood in his ears. Luke knew. He knew about them, and had never told Calum—the feeling of betrayal rushes back tenfold.

"Too-" Luke splutters, his voice a few octaves too high to be anywhere near calm, "too big a deal? You should just be thankful he doesn't know about me, too. How would you feel if you found out your three best friends were in a fucking _relationship_ , Michael?"

Calum doesn't hear what Michael replies. Can't possibly hear him when every single part of him feels like he's been set on fire, his throat constricting to the point where he's having to focus all of his effort on sucking air into his lungs. His world spins.

Not only does Luke know, but Luke's _part of it_. It, being a relationship. It, being his favourite people in the world, together. It, being _love_.

His gut twists with something hot and molten and furious, like undeniable jealousy, followed by anger, and then the crushing and overwhelming _pain_ at the realisation that his three, straight, bandmate, best friends—were together.

Was that even normal? Three people? Calum had freaked out at the thought of just two of them being together, but _all_ of them? He shoved the burning fiery envy down to the back of his mind, because he wasn't jealous. He couldn't be jealous. They were his _friends_.

He stumbled back away from the door, but had to force himself forwards again to brace himself against the frame as he struggled to breathe or see or think clearly, panic and confusion muddling everything up and sending his thoughts into a hurricane inside his mind.

"Why are you so afraid of him knowing?" He vaguely heard Michael snap, but Luke's previous words still ring like alarm bells in his ears.

"Because he's fucking straight," Luke hisses, and Calum feels something in his chest lurch, because it should be, simply, an affirmation of the truth—only it doesn't feel like it. "Do you think he'd just think it's _normal?"_

"No," Michael chuckles humourlessly, coldly, but it isn't in response to Luke's question. "That's not it. You're scared of something. Why are you scared?"

"Wha'...I'm not-"

"Are you scared he's going to leave, or something? Run away?" Michael's voice is so venomous Calum hardly recognises it, and with the way the anger radiates even through the door, he can't help but feel sorry for Luke, who's the direct target of it.

"I wouldn't be surprised. It's... _weird_."

"Fuck off, Luke."

"No, you know what? I'm sick of this conversation. Calum isn't fucking in love with us, Michael—he isn't in love with _you_. The sooner you accept that, the better."

Calum recoils. Luke's right—Luke _should_ be right. Calum isn't in love with them. He can't be. It's the shock of emotions and everything he's learning and the intermittent and undeniable fear that has him confused, and all. It's the spitefulness with which his two best friends bite at each other that has his defensive and protective instincts addled, because never in the band had Calum been aware of a conflict quite like his. Who did he side with? It isn't even like he liked guys, full stop. Not a month previously, Calum was bringing girls back from clubs for shameless, single nights spent together. But then again, not a month previously, Calum had also been curled up with one or another of his band mates on a hotel bed, watching them as they slept and then blushing and forcing his eyes shut once he caught himself staring. Not that that meant anything, but...

"I'm not going back to Sydney with you," Michael says lowly, but the wobble of his voice betrays him.

His heart sinks to the very pit of his stomach, so slowly he can feel the rush of blood in his veins dissipate into a painfully sluggish flow.

"What?"

"I'm just...going away for a bit. To clear my head. Just think things over."

"Oh, so now you're just running away again? Isn't that convenient?"

"I can't be around you anymore."

"...So it's over?"

"What? No, that wasn't-"

Calum had been too frozen in shock and a whirlwind of dangerous thoughts that he hadn't even heard Luke move closer to the door—his subconscious mind had put it down to a raise in volume of his voice.

Inevitably, the door handle twists, and Calum freezes, squeezing his eyes shut, preparing himself to be caught—until Michael utters a single "Luke, _please_ ," and suddenly the door handle is released from the other side as Luke cries out "just forget it, Mike!"—and Calum silently praises the blond boy for pausing to let go of the door handle to wring his hands or something, and for actually responding to Michael instead of just ignoring him and walking straight out of the door, because it provides Calum ample time to quickly duck around the corner and press himself flat against the wall.

He involuntarily wipes his clammy palms against his jeans, squeezing his eyes shut as he still tries to breathe.

He hears the door open, vaguely hears Michael calling Luke's name desperately, and his heart stops when he realises Luke was probably going to come round the corner and see him standing (or struggling to) right there in plain sight. Luckily, though, the younger boy stormed off in the opposite direction, and Calum felt himself sag, releasing a long and shaky sigh he hadn't realised he was holding.

In the next instant, a loud thump has Calum jumping, where Michael apparently angrily hit or threw something at the wall, unknowingly right next to Calum's head, from inside the room—but with how fast it sets Calum's heart beating, Michael may as well have just punched him in the face.

Calum's chest goes tight as his head spins, dizzy with confusion, and his throat constricts like there's a hand on his neck, slowly squeezing until it's nearly impossible to suck the air in.

He shouldn't be panicking like this, he's overreacting, but—at the same time, everything he's known for the past five years of his life has shifted. How long has this even been going on for?

They don't want him. They don't need him. Not in the same way as they need each other, at least.

He really can't breathe, though, now, and his vision is starting to blur as tears well up in his eyes and he claws at his chest, desperately trying to suck in the oxygen he needs. Vaguely, he registers the old couple he saw from before passing him, and a concerned face of the woman, and a hand reaching towards him warily, but he flinches and ducks away, stumbling blindly away in no specific direction—just anywhere _away_ from Michael's room.

His whole body begins to shake as he moves back down the corridor his room is located on, next to Ashton's, and he can only cry in relief when there's no one else down there—he doesn't need anyone seeing him like this. Instinctively, his first thought is to just go into his own room and wait for it to pass—but realistically, he feels like he's dying. He needs someone—that someone being Ashton, who's apparently the only viable option at the moment—but he knows that means that as soon as he's not _struggling for survival_ , he'll inevitably have to explain why he's in the midst of a mental breakdown.

The choice is made for him, however, when the door to his right opens, and over the rush of blood in his ears and the echo of his racing heart, he hears;

"Hey, man, are you—Calum?"

When Ashton says his name it's filled with heart-wrenching concern, but Calum can only sob as Ashton quickly takes him by the shoulders and gathers him into his room, shutting the door behind them.

He's had panic attacks before—during mobs, and such—but one thing he's figured out is that they _never_ get better. Always the horrific fight for air, and the mind-numbing dizziness and panic and desperation. But another thing that never changes about them is that there's always someone there. There's always Luke to stroke his back, or Michael to hold his hand, or Ashton, like he is now, running his fingers through his hair as he rocks them back and forth. It's terribly emasculating, but in moments like that, Calum never really cares. They're always there for each other, and Calum has repaid the favour on a countless number of occasions. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more stupid he feels for never realising that maybe the others' actions towards each other meant something so much more than just a helping hand. Not Calum, though. That was only ever, and only ever _could_ be, completely platonic.

Nevertheless, he twists his hands in the front of Ashton's shirt and clings on, a tear running down the side of his face as he gasps for air, and Ashton quickly wipes it away, cupping his cheeks between his big hands.

"Breathe, Cal, c'mon," Ashton says gently, but it sounds more like he's pleading, hazel eyes wide and worried.  
He tries—he never stopped _trying_ to breathe—but he just can't.  
Ashton holds him a little firmer, forcing Calum to lock eyes with him, and Calum persuades his lungs to take in a deep and stuttering breath, and Ashton smiles, albeit still painfully concerned, the rough pad of his thumb gently moving over Calum's cheekbone, grounding him.

"Just copy me," he says softly, and Calum focuses on the rise and fall of Ashton's chest, and manages holding in a breath to the point where he physically has to let go again—but slowly, surely, it starts to work.  
Ashton smiles gently, hushes him, but Calum can still see the fear plastered all over his face.  
He finally evens out his breathing a little, and his vision isn't quite so blurry, but his hands are trembling as he releases his white-knuckled grip on Ashton's shirt and blushes, embarrassed.

He hates people seeing him like this. Especially when it's over something that should be so trivial—something that doesn't even have _anything_ to do with him. The way Ashton's staring at him, like he's a thing that needs protecting and caring for, starts to make him uncomfortable, and he turns away in favour of finding a sudden interest in his fingers, where they're twisting around each other in his lap, and chewing on his lower lip until he tastes the sharp metallic tang of blood.

"Thanks," he mumbles past the lump in his throat, and feels Ashton shuffle closer to him on the bed, until he's bumping Calum's shoulder playfully with his own.  
Calum has the heart to snicker, but he doesn't look up.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ashton says quietly, patiently, and Calum sighs. He knows he'll have to eventually—that he can't just keep running from this forever—but he doesn't have the energy. Not to talk about it, nor to tell Ashton everything he just heard, including the fact that Michael was going away—which, Ashton deserved to know, really, regardless of whether he was in a.... _relationship_ , with Michael, or not.

He shakes his head, and hears Ashton sigh, and Calum winces. He can't deal with Ashton's disappointment on top of everything else at the minute, too, and lately, it's like everything that's said to him, every look cast in his direction—is just added extra weight on his shoulders.

"That's alright," Ashton murmurs like he can read Calum's mind, and loops a strong arm around Calum's shoulders. "Just so long as no one's done anything to hurt you, yeah?"

He thinks about that for a moment. Sure, he's hurting—fuck, he's hurting so _much_ , and he doesn't even know why (maybe it's all the secrets they've kept from him, or maybe it's something else)—but no one specific has deliberately done something to _hurt_ him.

He shakes his head, and Ashton smiles again, sad but relieved.

"Good."

Calum doesn't speak as Ashton slips his shoes off for him, or as he tucks him into the bed and slides in wordlessly next to him, his comforting hold on Calum never lessening once.

The minute his head hits the plush pillow, Calum's eyes are drooping, the warmth from the older boy behind him seeping into him and making everything go soft and fuzzy. He's too drained to think about anything properly—about the fact that they're lying to him, and have been for ages—all he can do is sink further back into Ashton's chest, and feel the other member of the rhythm section's heartbeat finally thrum in time with Calum's own.

His last thought he registers before unconscious darkness claims him, is that his three best friends are in love—with each other, no less—and not with _him_.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again,  
> First of all I must apologise PROFUSELY for missing an update. I swear I'm unbelievably sorry but sometimes life just gets the better of me, I'm so sorry honestly pls forgive meh lmao  
> The thing is I'm just not sure about this fic anymore, I was really happy with it at first and now I just feel like my writing has gone downhill and the plot is meh and idk :(  
> I'll definitely continue it and try my best, but I really really do hope you enjoy this!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented and left kudos and bookmarks etc. because it means the world, and again, thank you for reading <3

Michael is already gone the following morning when Calum wakes up, along with any hope Calum had of clearing the unbearable tension between the four of them.

As he cracks his eyes open with the first rays of sun slicing their way through the hotel room, Ashton's warmth and presence is gone from behind him, but Calum can still hear him, talking to Luke in the doorway, trying to keep it hushed despite Luke talking like he hasn't even realised Calum is there—or alternatively, like he just doesn't care.

"Gone? Gone where?" Ashton exclaims, and it takes Calum a second to register it considering his head feels like it's been stuffed full of fluff in his sleep, but he soon realises they're talking about Michael. He keeps his eyes almost entirely shut, should either of them turn around and consider that their far-from-quiet conversation could potentially have woken him—but all he can see is Ashton's back, anyway, all tense and rigid and hard lines.

"I don't know," he hears Luke say honestly, and Ashton makes a disgruntled noise which Calum can't quite decipher...almost like he saw this coming—which is impossible, considering Calum had no idea himself that Michael was planning on just upping and leaving sometime soon—but then again, he supposed, Ashton was probably aware of a different dimension to Michael entirely. The jealousy returned with a vengeance, fierce and angry and searingly hot, but he could never admit to himself that he wanted that, too. That he wanted to _know_ them.

"What did you say to him?" Ashton says, with a tone that's enough to make even Calum wince, because it sounds like he's _blaming Luke_ for Michael leaving more than anything else.

He can't see Luke past Ashton's broad frame, but he feels the atmosphere shift like a tonne of bricks, from defensive to furious, and finally to hurt within the space of a few seconds. Calum can't help but feel pathetic still lying in bed, when all of this is taking place a few feet away from him.

"I didn't say anything," Luke says quietly, and Calum's not sure he's ever heard Luke quite so vulnerable, not in all their years of knowing each other—and they've been through enough together for that to be quite the statement. "I didn't mean-...I didn't _want_ him to go..."

Calum watches all of the fight drain out of Ashton—sees his shoulders slump forward and hears another tired sigh escape him as he pulls Luke into a tight and apologetic hug. Calum swallows thickly. It's far too soon for this to be happening after he only just found out about Luke last night—he's barely even had time to comprehend the fact—yet there they are, with Ashton's lips pressed against the top of Luke's head despite the fact that Luke resembles a giraffe in height, and Calum feels sick. He's been held by them like that, too, and it makes him wonder—had they ever felt something more than friendship towards him? It'd certainly be far more simple if that wasn't the case, but he'd be lying to himself if he said a tiny part of him didn't hope so.

The intimacy has Calum feeling like an intruder, like he's watching something that was never meant for his eyes—but it's not just like he can just leave. When Luke leans his head up to rest it on Ashton's shoulder, Calum has no choice but to suck in a breath and feign sleep again, because there's not a chance in hell he's getting caught listening into this. Without vision, the sounds of breathing are suddenly so much louder, and he hears them both sigh as they release each other, neither of them saying anything for a few moments after.

"'M sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Ashton murmurs, "I'm just...tired."

"'S fine," Luke says with a smile in his voice, and it makes it a little bit more bearable but Calum still wants to evaporate into thin air.

He knows that their plane doesn't leave until the afternoon, but he'd still rather Luke return to his own room soon so that he can actually get up without making everything even more painful than it already is—of course, though, his hopes are crushed when Luke speaks up again.

"Why'd he sleep in here?" Luke asks, and Calum doesn't even have to acknowledge the sudden burn of their gazes boring into him to know they're talking about him.   
"I don't know," Ashton says, and even with his eyes closed he can practically see Ashton rubbing a tired hand over his face. "I meant to talk to him about it this morning."  
He doesn't hear a response from Luke, but he's grateful he didn't press on. He doesn't need anyone other than Ashton knowing about his momentary lapse in composure.

Luke hums thoughtfully; Calum's heart skips a beat when he hears a kiss before Luke's footsteps pad away down the corridor. It's only a peck, but it's confirmation enough of everything he'd hoped was just a dream. There was not a chance in hell that he was going to be able to erase this from his memory—it wasn't going to be that simple this time. Before, it'd been _only_ a kiss, and there'd been the potential of it being nothing more than that. Now, though, he knew it was love—that they were all of them in love with each other—and that it was real.

Where before he'd been practically dreading it, he couldn't have been anymore grateful now for the break they were getting.

Ever since they left for London a few years back, Calum and Luke had adopted a system—when sitting next to each other, whether it be on a plane or otherwise, they were the perfect height for Calum to lean his head on Luke's shoulder, and Luke to lean his head atop Calum's head in turn—which had also been perfect back when they were younger, given Luke's mild fear of flying, and Calum's supposed nature of (in Ashton's words) a 'cuddly little bear'.

It'd become a band tradition that they always sat next to one another, and Calum feels a little bad for leaving Ashton alone for the long haul flight back to Sydney, but really, it's no ones fault but Michael's.

When they actually board, though, it seems that Calum may not have to worry about that, because instead of taking a seat next to a window, Luke sits on the one closest to the aisle and deposits his bag on the window seat so that Calum doesn't even have the option of climbing across. He stops up short in the middle of the aisle, which probably isn't a great idea considering the long line of passengers behind him who are eager to just find their seat and take it, but he's never not sat next to Luke on a plane. Ever.

He stands there a little longer, hovering right over Luke, and Luke only looks up from his phone in annoyance when a grumbling man behind Calum grows impatient and shoves his way past in the small space, shoving Calum's crotch into Luke's head. Calum grins, and Luke sighs, picking his bag up and sidling over so that Calum can slip in—much to his relief—and not only because he really wants to sit next to Luke, but because the old woman behind him looked about ready to whack him around the head with her big leather handbag.

He settles comfortably in between them, but there's an icy tension hanging in the air which fills Calum with a hollow sense of despair, only growing when he sees Ashton sit down, alone, in front of them. There's supposed to be a head of bleach blonde hair next to him, but instead, Michael is quite possibly even in another continent at this point, which Calum refuses to acknowledge as proof that they're drifting apart. He won't let them. The root of it all, really though, always comes back to Calum—things were absolutely fine before he walked in on Ashton and Michael together that one night and refused to even talk to them properly, tried to pretend it never happened only to fail miserably.

Luke's elbow touches his on the leather armrest, but right then, it felt like they were a million miles apart. They didn't talk to each other for the rest of the flight, but in all honesty Calum was fine with that, anyway—his plan was to just hanker down and sleep until they finally landed back home. Or, at least, what had once been home. He wasn't entirely sure what home was anymore.

The first thing Calum does at the stop in Sydney is check his phone; he was restless to check it the entire flight—until he fell asleep, that is—and his heart quickens in his chest when he sees a notification from Michael. Luke is still asleep next to him, so Calum doesn't hesitate as his fingers fly to swipe it open.

_**Mike** :   
Hey, sorry I left without much notice, just needed a break. Hope u and the guys have fun in Sydney x_

Calum rereads it, over and over until the brightness of his phone screen after hours of sleeping makes his head spin a little bit. It's just a text, nothing more, but his eyes keep falling upon the kiss at the end. Michael never, ever leaves kisses. Not to Calum, anyway.

Ashton keeps a painfully close eye on him all day, not even trying to be discreet as he twisted around in his seat to peer at Calum through the crack in the seats.   
"What?" Calum rolled his eyes, leaning forwards to talk to Ashton through the gap, not particularly caring how childlike it seemed.   
"You okay?" Ashton whispered back, and Calum just blinked at him for a moment.   
"Peachy," he muttered back, and Ashton frowned.   
"I mean about last night, dumbass."  
Calum cringes, but he knew it was going to come sooner or later. Ashton would never just let something like that slide.   
All he can do is shrug.  
"It got anything to do with him?" Ashton said carefully, slowly, and nodded towards Luke, and Calum froze. How could Ashton know that Calum knew about Luke? Or assume that Calum had anything to do with it?   
"I- uh, what do you mean?"   
Ashton's frown deepened. "I just meant because he's been acting weird..."  
"Oh," Calum breathed, relieved, but he already knew that Ashton was suspicious. "No." Lie. "He's probably just tired," he says, quickly changing the subject, looking back at Luke briefly, who was still fast asleep, and then back to Ashton.   
The eldest was evidently anything but convinced, and he stared Calum down a little longer, hazel eyes warm but sharp and piercing as they stared into his own. Calum pulled a face and laughed uncomfortably, but Ashton just continued to stare.   
"Right..." he finally said, before turning back around in his own seat. Calum felt confusion mar his features before sinking back into his chair, wondering just how easily Ashton had been able to read him. He hated having to pretend like he didn't know exactly what Ashton meant.

For the rest of the journey he was restless and tiresome, unable to fall asleep no matter how close he snuggled up to Luke. Instead, he settled for watching the younger boy sleep in the least creepiest way possible—he studied his face intently—the scruff lining his sharp jaw or the way his eyelashes fanned out on his pale cheekbones, still unable to hide the purple smudges of exhaustion underneath, though.

Tugging his jacket a little closer around himself, concentrating on Luke's face too hard for so long eventually made his eyelids heavy, and he rested his head fully on Luke's shoulder, as he always did. He held his breath waiting for Luke to stir, but it never came. It didn't feel right. He shouldn't have to worry about Luke waking up because that was just what Calum always did and the blonde was used to it, by now. Instead, it was like Luke was a complete _stranger_.

Despite the ridiculous hour of the morning at which they arrive in Sydney, he's already got thousands of notifications from his parents sent only minutes before, evidently having ignored Calum begging for them not to wait up for him. Luke snickers over his shoulder, but Calum scoffs, because Luke undoubtedly has the exact same from his own parents waiting for him on his phone. He can't help but briefly wonder if _Michael_ texted Luke. Probably not.

Ashton seems reluctant to actually let him leave when he bids them farewell, but does so anyway, pulling him in for a wary hug. Luke offers him a pat on the back and a tired smile, and they part their ways.

It's all silent in the house when he quietly lets himself in, all the lights off in the house, and he's undeniably thankful that his parents went to bed. It was far too late to be greeting them now. He used the torch of his phone to light the way through his parents' home, almost missing the note on the counter, only pausing to read it when the torchlight caught it:

_Sorry baby, we got too tired, but we hope your flight was good and will see you in the morning._

He smiled, toeing off his shoes and leaving his bags in the hallway. He'd forgotten how much he missed home when he went away, and this time, it seemed, home was all the more welcome—with the blur of all that'd happened, he'd been too caught up to really think about anything else. It was all about the others, and quite frankly, even contemplating it made Calum's head spin.

He didn't bother to get changed before climbing into bed; he just took his jeans off and clambered in quietly, wincing as the bed creaked a little. His room was the same as ever—still a little cluttered with all the junk his parents stored in there while he was away, but he was thankful that Joy had apparently cleaned it up at least a little.

Briefly, he considered calling Michael, asking him where he was or how he was doing or why he'd _really_ left—and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. It could wait until the morning.

In the silence his thoughts felt ten times louder. The moonlight fell in waves across the room, just reaching his toes where they stuck out of the ends of his covers.

He rolled onto his side, huffing at the wall when he still couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. He'd been exhausted all day, bones rattled with jet lag, and now his mind was more awake than ever.

What if Michael had left because of him? What if the band was falling apart? Were they all really in love? Did they love him? Would they ever love him?

He thought back to Michael and Ashton, together like that. It could easily have been something less than love, but now that Calum knew it definitely wasn't, the jealousy became amplified.

He wanted Ashton to kiss him like that. Michael to pin him up against a wall. Luke to _fuck_ him.

He was too tired to even try denying it to himself anymore—he craved it with every inch of himself, he needed it. He'd never previously allowed himself to acknowledge it, never let himself admit that he wanted their love, never even come to terms with the fact that he might like guys as well as girls—but he was tired of pretending. It didn't matter because no one else knew—just Calum. It was his little secret.

He closed his eyes, replaying the scene, over and over again in his head. Purple bruises. Swollen lips.

He bit his own lip, shuffling on the bed so he was back on his back again, letting the cool air brush gently over his body, making his hair stand on end.

Tight grips. Quiet moans.

It was wrong to be getting hard over the thought of his two best friends grinding against each other on a bathroom wall, but it was like the image was burned into his eyelids all over again.

He snaked a hand down, slowly, giving himself the time to realise how ridiculous this was and stop—but, of course, he didn't.

Through years of sharing a tour bus and countless hotel rooms with three other teenage boys, Calum had just about mastered the art of silently getting himself off, which was perfect, really—he didn't need his parents waking up and hearing after not having seen him for months.

Pulling his shirt up, he tucked it underneath his chin, using his other hand to pull down his boxers, leaving them around his thighs incase he had to quickly pull them back up again, despite the fact he was the only one awake in the house.

His hand skittered down nervously like it wasn't his own body he was touching, and he bit his lip, resisting the urge to moan as he gave his already semi-hard length a slow tug.

He wanted them to love him like that. Touch him like that. It felt so wrong, but all he could think of was a big blur of them, imprinted at the very forefront of his mind—he was going to cry, almost, but it was so good, imagining what it'd be like having one of them underneath him instead of some pretty girl from a shitty club—or, even, what it'd be like to be underneath one of them.

It was quick and it was sloppy, but with the complete and utter chaos of everything over the past few months, Calum realised he'd refrained from any sex completely. He grunted quietly, careful not to wake his parents just a few rooms away as he came closer.

He wondered if they'd ever done things like this but together, to each other, all three of them. Searing anger raced through his veins at the thought that they'd all been together in such a way without him—that they couldn't even have included him without the whole legitimate relationship side of things.

Part of it was so overwhelming that he just wanted to stop, and he tried so hard to just imagine it was some girl touching him—but instead, all he saw were flashes of hazel, green and blue eyes all at once, and lean bodies that were _not_ female, and the confusion intensified a million times over as it was those images that sent him over the edge, leg kicking against the sheets and his other hand above his head, gripping his pillow, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted together to keep himself from crying out.

It was only when he came down from his high, alone, that Calum realised he actually was crying, a single solitary tear having slipped it's way down his face, and his stomach dropped in dismay. He'd just _cry-wanked_ like a forty year old man in the middle of a divorce who was losing the case for custody of his kids, and it only made him cry harder as he cleaned himself off with a tissue on his bedside table.

It'd been good while it lasted, but now all he could think about was how he'd just gotten off to the thought of _fucking his best friends_ , and he wasn't sure he'd ever been so disgusted with himself.

The pictures still swam before him as he curled up onto his side, biting down on his knuckle to keep from being too loud. He hated this. Hated feeling so useless and alone.

They belonged to each other, and he belonged to no one—yet here he was, imagining the possibility of them loving him.

His fingers itched for his phone, to just reach out and ring one of them, but he didn't need Ashton worrying anymore than he already was, and Luke was already being distant, and Calum didn't even know where Michael was.

In the darkness, the moonlight barely filtering in through the slightly open blinds, he couldn't help but wonder if it was _him_ who'd completely and singlehandedly torn everything apart.


	5. 5

The week should've passed quickly, what with Calum doing hardly anything other than joining in with whatever Joy had planned out if only to keep her happy, and he always put it down to Michael. The worry consumed his every thought, and with Ashton and Luke busy with their own families, and Mali still in London, there was nothing to distract him from it.

Joy was babying him, and even David was going out of his way to make Calum's life easier—then again, that was the way it always was whenever he visited home.

"Calum! Breakfast's on the table," Joy chirped from downstairs, and Calum knew she meant well, but couldn't help the lengthy sigh that escaped him. Instead of it being relaxing, the constant attention was the definition of exhausting. He could make his own breakfast, and wash his own clothes. But if it made her content, he was happy to let it continue.

"Aren't you hungry?" Joy asked with furrowed dark eyebrows, twenty minutes later after Calum had managed to force down a few morsels of the pancakes she'd made him. Whilst he usually devoured her pancakes, not even the promising fresh tang of the raspberries could appeal to his appallingly poor appetite, and he shook his head forlornly, avoid meeting her eye.

From the second he'd seen them the morning after he'd arrived, they'd known something was wrong—especially Joy, what with her alarmingly accurate motherly instinct.   
She stood with her hands on her hips, looking down at him sternly, and he knew better than to avoid her gaze any longer.   
"Sorry, I'll finish them," he mumbled, picking up his fork again, but she laid a palm gently across the top of his hand.   
"I don't care about the pancakes," she smiled, but there was still that underlying concern that everyone around him seemed to look at him with recent. "Come on. Living room," she said, and abandoned her apron, waiting for him to leave the kitchen before following him.

Nestled in next to her on the comfy seats of the sofa, he felt like he was five years old again. Her deep brown eyes were full to the brim with worry, but also with an unconditional love that couldn't be shifted, and instantly he was more ease than he had been in months.

"Tell me what's wrong," she implored pleadingly, and the tension in him dissolved, his shoulders slumping.   
"There's nothing wrong," he chuckled emptily, but the disappointment plastered on her face had him submitting again. "It's just...someone...maybe."

Joys face went through a series of emotions all within the space of a split second: first, utter delight, and then the process of trying to suppress it for the sake of not annoying him, and then back to serious but with happiness in the twitch of her lips at the corners.

It wasn't a lie, as such, and yet he still couldn't help but feel guilty.

"Ah, that's lovely, honey. Is she nice?"

He winced, swallowing thickly around the steadily growing lump in his throat. He couldn't blame her—he'd only ever dated girls, and certainly never more than once at a time—but it was still hard.

"Yeah, they...she's nice, it's just...I'm not, like, sure? Like, I'm not sure she likes me, or if I like her..."

"Well, I remember when I first met your dad-"

"No, mum, not like that," Calum sighed, and Joy looked puzzled, but waited patiently for him to continue. "She, uh...she's with someone else."

"Oh..." Joy bit her lip thoughtfully, and Calum ducked his head, unable to stand her gaze any longer. "I'm sorry," she said eventually, and Calum snickered.

"Not your fault," he said bitterly, and he knew he sounded like a kid, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Y'know, maybe some things just aren't meant to be."

Calum supposed that, from her point of view, it must sound impossible. Joy was imagining a girl with a boy, and she knew just as well that Calum would never be the type of person to ruin a relationship. He wanted so badly to correct her—tell her that it was his three best friends, and that they were all together and it was them he had...feelings, for—and if three, then why not four? There was still the possibility, as far away as the reality of that felt. So he just nodded, because it was a million times more painful than admitting to her that he felt like he was sinking, suffocating, drowning.

Joy looked like she was about to say something else, chewing on her lip thoughtfully, when suddenly his phone started to chime in his back pocket, and so she just gave him a small smile.   
"You'll figure it out," she said, before excusing herself.   
Calum watched her go with a sigh, before pulling out his phone, and feeling his heart stop beating.

Michael was trying to FaceTime him, and Calum's thumb hovered anxiously over the answer button, like he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to press it.

It felt like weeks since he'd seen his best friend even though it'd only been a matter of days, and he remembered Michael's promise to finally tell him everything he wanted to know, only for that to later crash and burn with Luke. He wanted to know—of course he did—and yet another part of him was scared that everything he suspected was going to be confirmed, and he wasn't sure if he could face that.

Truthfully, he did want to see Michael—even if it was only his face on a grainy screen—and without giving himself time to change his mind, he picked up, already on his way up the stairs for privacy.

"Cal!" Michael calls out cheerfully, and Calum smiles as he shuts the door behind him, flopping down onto his bed and wincing when he catches a glimpse of himself in the corner of the screen. His hair is a mess, and his eyes tired, and-

"You look like shit," Michael frowns, and Calum rolls his eyes.   
"Nice to see you too," he grumbles, and Michael's frown softens with a giggle.   
"Missing me?" Michael teases, and Calum swallows thickly, because it's evident Michael has no idea how much truth that statement actually holds.   
He chooses to remain silent, instead, chewing on his lip as he rolled onto his front, feeling like he was back in year eight again, only this time instead of being a few blocks down, Michael was probably half the world away.   
"Where are you?" He asks quietly, not meaning for it to sound as hurt as it does.   
"America," Michael replies, and Calum snorts.   
"Care to be a little more specific?"  
"Not really," Michael shakes his head simply. "The others didn't tell you where I'd gone?"

Calum feels his stomach sink. "No," he choked. "They knew?"  
Michael nods, and Calum decides there's no point in even trying to not feel betrayed anymore. "Well- Ashton did, anyway."  
"Oh."

The conversation dies a painful death, and Calum fiddled with the corner of his sheets, Michael coughing awkwardly on the other end.   
"How're your parents?"  
"They're good," he nods. "No Mali, though. She said she'll catch up with me on break."  
"That's good."

Another long silence.

"You wanna talk now?"

Calum's head snaps up so quickly he's afraid he's hurt his neck, and he blinks at Michael. He knows exactly what the blond means, but he think Michael owes him in making the effort.

"What?" Calum replies cautiously, just incase he's gotten his hopes up for nothing (again), and Michael rolls his eyes playfully.

"You _know_ what," Michael has the audacity to smirk, and if Calum were with him he could probably punch him right now. "You deserve to know," he says more softly a split second after, and Calum nods.

"Yeah," he agrees, waits for Michael to continue.

Michael takes a deep shaky breath, and for the first time in a long while, he actually looks nervous—which is a look he's never actually had when approaching Calum himself, he realises.   
"You may have, uh, guessed..." Michael starts slowly, and Calum's fingers move faster where they're still twiddling with the edge of his duvet, because he's growing impatient. He needs to hear it for himself, _finally_.   
"Me and Ash are...kind of a thing..." Michael's green eyes flicker up nervously to gauge Calum's reaction, but Calum just remains frozen, his fingers finally coming to a standstill to rest clasped in front of him. It's clear Michael isn't finished, though. "...And Luke, too."

The knowledge hits him like a brick, hard and fast and painful, and part of him is tempted to hang up on Michael before he can disappoint him anymore, because jagged silence is undoubtedly not the reaction the blond haired boy was looking for. Calum's muscles have gone so tense he's almost trembling, and he refuses to look anywhere near his phone, instead choosing to stare at the bold black lettering of his mother's initials tattooed on the back of his hand, as a mere distraction. It's beginning to grow dark outside, but Calum doesn't want to turn the light on in his bedroom, lest Michael should properly see the true pain surely etched onto his face.

His mouth opens to say something, but snaps shut again when he struggles to find the words to say. His fingers begin moving again, but not consciously—his hands are shaking again like they did not a few nights previous as the emotions come crashing down on him in waves.

He should feel relieved—he's perfectly sane, he didn't imagine it all, they are all together—but all he feels is alone and pained. He is now, effectively, an official fourth-wheel. They've lied to him for months.

"What kind of thing?" He murmurs eventually, and despite it being a simple question, Michael looks entirely upset at Calum's obviously insufficiently enthusiastic reaction.   
"Like, together. Not just sex," Michael adds, and Calum squeezes his eyes shut because his thoughts are zooming past far too fast.   
"How long?" He asks, but his mouth has gone so dry it comes out as little more than a whisper.   
"Huh?" Michael asks, and Calum feels his anger rear up at being forced to reiterate a question that was difficult enough to ask the first time around.   
"How long?" He snaps, and Michael winces.

"Does it mat-"  
"Yes," Calum said suddenly, head suddenly aching as he swallowed thickly, "yes."

"About eight months," Michael says faintly, and Calum's heart jerks wildly in his chest. It isn't even a new thing. They've been keeping this from him for eight months, and the worst part is, he feels stupid more than he does jealous. How didn't he realise?

He sits, frozen completely still, so still Michael looks almost afraid that they've lost connection, or something. Whilst he's still processing everything, rigid on the bed where he's sat cross-legged like a child now, Michael speaks again, apparently unable to stand the painfully icy silence dragging out between them.   
"I don't know how you didn't find out sooner," Michael jokes, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, but the anger surges out of Calum, running through his veins like white hot lava.

"Maybe because you didn't tell me," he says it so loudly that his voice doesn't even have a chance to wobble, despite the tears welling up in his eyes, and Michael flinches again like Calum's actually there, shouting at him face to face.   
  
"Cal, please-"

"Don't, Michael," Calum fumes, because this is his chance to finally let everything out, take it all out Michael no matter how unfair it is. "You-...you lied to me. All of you."

"We never lied," Michael says weakly, "we just didn't tell you..."

" _Fuck you_ ," he spits, hands curling into fists, "didn't I deserve to know? Or was I not worthy of that? I mean, it's pretty clear you're all perfectly happy without me-"

"Stop it," Michael pleads desperately, "you know that's not true."

"How am I supposed to know that?" He'd be embarrassed at the fact that there were tears rolling down his cheeks now, but after everything, he wanted them to see how much it all fucking hurt. "You're in love with each other. You don't _need_ me."

"Of course we need you," Michael cried out, rubbing at his eyes. "Cal, we all love you-"

"But you're not _in_ love with me, are you?"

And there's the million dollar question. It's all Calum's really wanted to know, this whole time. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore.

Michael went deadly still, blinking at the screen, and Calum's heart sank. He'd undeniably wanted a yes, but instead, he'd been met with a deafening silence. He felt his lower lip begin to wobble uncontrollably, and before Michael could see him start to sob like a child, he hit the end call button, cutting off Michael's last noise of protest before he even had a chance to utter a word.

 

 


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY that this has taken so long to update when I promised you I'd update it as soon as possible, but I swear I have been so so busy and I'm writing the chapters as they come. Honestly idk about this chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it and that for those of you who celebrate it you had an amazing Christmas!! I absolutely promise I will try to update this more regularly but please don't hate me if not, I'm busy af recently and am trying my hardest :) hope you enjoy x

Once again, it's Ashton who Calum finds solace in once their break is over and they reunite to play in Australia—more specifically, in the long walks and shopping trips and days out the older boy drags him to. It's the perfect distraction as they walk around in the searing heat of Sydney, both of them carrying Ashton's bags from the heavy shopping he's done. He claims it's for Christmas, but Christmas isn't for a while yet; Calum hasn't even started thinking about what he's going to get anyone.

"You ready for tonight?" Ashton asks between sips of his Starbucks, and he's undoubtedly referring to their show later, yet Calum can't help but feel like there's a hidden meaning somewhere in that question.

He nods sincerely, stirring his straw around absentmindedly and watching it push the ice cubes to the side of the plastic cup.   
"Yeah," he answers, "I miss it. Miss Mike, too," he adds as an afterthought, and something cold flashes across Ashton's hazel eyes for the merest of seconds, but it's gone before Calum can properly read it.   
"It's only been a week," Ashton says with a tight smile, and Calum sighs, acting none the wiser to Ashton's slight discomfort. It's a horrible, sadistic feeling, but he can't help but feel like he deserves to squirm a little, after hiding something so big from Calum for so long.   
"I know, but I just worry. It was so...unexpected."  
Ashton watches Calum carefully over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip—both of them know that Michael leaving, in hindsight, was anything but unexpected. It's in that instant that Calum realises, Ashton knows that Michael told him everything. Ashton smiles again when Calum makes eye contact again, but he looks as if he wants the ground beneath them to swallow him up.

"You coming out with us tonight?" Ashton asks carefully, eyeing him.   
He just shrugs casually, like he hasn't even thought about it. In reality, though, it's consumed the majority of his thoughts for the best part of the day—he's not been out with all of them for ages now, it seems, and it's been even longer since he's really let loose. Something nags at him, screams at him that it can't possibly go well—a mixture of alcohol and rampant emotions and Calum never has a happy ending—but he answers before he can change his mind.

"Eh, I guess," he says briskly, and Ashton's smile is definitely worth the consequences his bad decision will almost definitely have.

"Good," he says, smile fading as he chews on his lip, like he's contemplating saying something. Calum waits. "Listen, Cal, I just-"

"It's fine," Calum blurts out in anticipation, because he already knows Ashton is going to apologise, or something. He's known him for too long. The truth was that it was far from fine, but Calum figured it was easier than listening to the same painful speech again. Ashton sits back in his seat, stunned. "You haven't got to explain anything. It's fine."

"It isn't," Ashton says softly, clearly upset. "Mike called me the minute you hung up, and...it wasn't fair of us, Cal. We should've told you."  
"Don't worry, I get it, yeah? I'm...happy for you." The guilt swells up inside him with how much the words that left his lips all felt like lies.   
Ashton stares at him blankly, like he can see right through him. "You're sure?" Ashton says, hesitantly.   
Calum tries to give him his most sincere look as he nods and says, "yeah, duh. You're my best friends. It's whatever."  
He's certain he's never seen Ashton look so relieved in his entire life, and manages to muster a small smile, taking another sip of the icy cool drink in an attempt to quell the angry hot storm of emotion raging inside of him which he refuses to let show.   
"This doesn't change anything between us, does it?" Ashton says, and Calum blinks, before shaking his head.   
"Of course not." It's a challenge to keep his voice neutral, but it seems to do the trick as Ashton smiles in relief once more.   
"Good. That means a lot," he says, hand reaching over the table to grab Calum's, where it's rested next to his drink, and he feels his whole body go rigid.   
He knows it's just Ashton expressing his gratitude, and yet something in him screams that Ashton is holding his hand and that it has to be something more than just thankfulness that's shining in those blindingly dazzling hazel eyes.

He withdraws his hand, quickly but not too fast for it to be suspicious, and coughs awkwardly.   
"Just so long as you keep the kissing and all that shit to a minimum," he jokes weakly, and Ashton manages a chuckle, but eyes Calum suspiciously nonetheless.

The show seems to fly past in a whirl. Instead of the audience, though, Calum can't keep his eyes off of Michael—the blonde haired boy greeted him awkwardly earlier, shuffling around before eventually rolling his eyes and deciding that their little charade was ridiculous, pulling Calum in for a hug just like he always had—and Michael stares right back, shamelessly, a big stupid smile plastered on his face.

He figures Ashton must've told him about their little chat earlier, and apparently that'd lifted some of the guilt off of Michael's shoulders, because now he was acting like nothing had even happened.

Calum couldn't bring himself to care—not when everything finally seemed normal again. Aside from the slight iciness between Luke and Michael, things had almost entirely returned to their natural equilibrium.

Michael is the first person to talk to him after they rush off stage, high on energy and ecstatic with the buzz of adrenaline. The crowd seemed particularly enthusiastic, and whilst he loves everywhere they play, Calum can't deny that playing in Australia always has that special feeling of familiarity.

The guitarist pulls him to the side as they're meandering back towards the dressing room, taking a quick sip of his water before screwing the lid back on, and looking at Calum with serious green eyes.

Calum blinks at him in the brief second that Michael spends staring at him before he pulls Calum in for a long, deep hug. Calum's breath hitches in his throat as Michael draws him in close and wraps his arms around him, but then he relaxes into it—inhales Michael's scent, wraps his own arms around the older boy's soft waist—and sighs, softly.

"Feel like I don't hug you enough," Michael chuckles, and it's muffled by Calum's shoulder, where Michael's got his face buried. Calum's sure there's far, far more to it than that—but neither of them are willing to say it, and in a way, it's fine. In Michael's arms, Calum's not sure he could ever feel anything but fondness for his oldest friend.

"Sorry," Michael eventually whispers, and it sounds thick and watery and wobbly, so Calum just squeezes him tighter, his forgiveness going unspoken.

They're in the same position again an hour later, only this time, they're in the middle of a hot and heaving club, with Michael drunkenly clinging on to Calum's arm as they sit in a booth at the side, with people they don't know. All Calum remembers is that they'd left the venue not soon after he and Michael had broken apart, and that Ashton and Luke had disappeared somewhere else seemingly the minute they'd set foot inside the large club, whereas Michael had chosen to stick with Calum. Calum also remembers finding it particularly charming; had he been Michael, he knows he would much rather have spent the night with his _boyfriends_. Michael's laughing at a story some random man is telling, and Calum's drunk enough that the memories of what happened the last time they were in a place like this have stopped resurfacing.

He's too hot with Michael against him like this, though, and he needs to stretch his legs—he hasn't been listening to the story, nor does he care to.

He skilfully detaches himself from Michael's side, mumbling something about being back in a minute, although he himself has no idea where he's going.

The world seems to spin on an axis as he rubs a hand over his face, people moving in slow motion around him to music he can hardly hear over the heavy invisible thrum of alcohol and adrenaline. He hadn't intended on even getting that drunk, but the minute a shot glass was in his hand, he couldn't refrain from throwing back as many as possible. He knew he'd regret it tomorrow, undoubtedly, but it'd been far too long.

The bright flashing lights skidded across the sea of bodies, a blinding white light shining directly in his eyes over the shoulder of the girl who's silhouette it outlined, her smooth dark skin glowing in the hot, lucid air surrounding them.

He knew she'd seen him looking as her dark eyes glinted in his direction, dark long lashes fluttering. She was undoubtedly pretty—not as pretty as the other certain three people running marathons around his mind—but he didn't fight back as she hooked a finger in the front of his shirt, pulling him forward so they were pushed together, her curly black hair sticking to his skin as she moved in time with the music.

It felt surreal, like he wasn't really there—he was floating, watching it all happen from afar—but the feeling of her lips against his throat was all too real, teeth grazing the point where his pulse was beating crazily. To one another, they were just warm bodies, but he welcomed the distraction with open arms, his hand coming to rest on her waist.

She wasn't soft like Michael or tall like Luke or muscled like Ashton—she wasn't what he wanted—he didn't want the scent of expensive woman's perfume all over him, or red lipstick up his neck, but he never once stopped, lips parted as she kissed along his jawline.

The crowd around them was blurry, but as Calum tilted his head back to expose his neck further for her relentless kissing, the icy blue of Luke's eyes was unmistakeable, staring right at him.

Calum took in the way he stood stock-still, despite how everything else felt like it was melting and dripping away like watercolours on a page, his shoulders rigid and his hands in fists at his sides. He couldn't help but smile at Luke, lopsided and almost smirking, his confidence suddenly boosted, as he leaned down to pull the girl in for a hot, messy kiss, her teeth catching on his bottom lip.

Initially, he let his eyes flutter shut, one hand on her slim waist, the other skidding up her back and over the material of her short black dress, but opened them to see her up-close, blurry, but eyes shut firmly, her long dark eyelashes fanned out over her glowing cheekbones, dark eyeshadow glistening.

Her face was nowhere near as interesting as Luke's, though, and while his mouth still merged with the girl's, he looked up at Luke through his eyelashes, cocky and confident, praying with all his might that it looked as enticing as he imagined.

Luke looked angry—no, _furious_ —and the very thought only encouraged him, drove him onwards to lean deeper into the kiss, yet never once letting his eyes leave Luke's face.

He was temporarily distracted by her small hands carding through his hair, and he closed his eyes only briefly, for what he could've sworn was just a blink—when he felt a strong hand on his arm, pulling him away. The girl made a noise of protest, hands reaching out blindly for him as he was tugged through the crowd, towards the edge of the large room. Calum grunted his protest, but who must've been Luke was relentless, moving Calum firmly yet gently. He felt his adrenaline spike, perhaps with the promise that he'd actually attracted their attention for once—that maybe they were even jealous.

Disoriented, the hands pinning him up against the wall certainly didn't help, but Luke's clear blue eyes brought everything back into focus. They were swimming with what was undoubtedly envy, and even if Calum said so himself, his pupils were blown with lust as he pushed himself up against Calum, arms bracketing him in.

Everything in him was screaming _mistake_ , but here was Luke, tall and pretty and his blonde hair a beautiful curly mess on his head, stubble gracing his strong jawline like Calum's would probably never, his top dipping just slightly in the middle to reveal the pale skin of his firm chest, tiny beads of sweat dusted over him, making him glisten in the light, his musk a heavy cloud between them—and Calum's legs turned to jelly. Luke was so close—so, so close—and his hands were in Luke's shirt, and then Luke was kissing him even more deeply than the girl had just seconds or minutes before, and Calum felt fireworks explode behind his eyes as he let them shut, and didn't open them again.

His hands tangled in Luke's hair, and Luke pressed himself even further onto him, like he couldn't stand to have a single inch of his skin not touching Calum's. It was pathetically intoxicating, but every single nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best way possible, making stupid whimpering noises into Luke's mouth, his legs threatening to collapse beneath him.

Luke was the first to break away, his hand almost unfittingly gentle following the rough, passionate kiss as it stroked Calum's cheek, his breath cooling on Calum's scaldingly hot skin.   
_"I think I love you,"_ he whispered, his voice thick and hoarse, undoubtedly as drunk as Calum was, and instead of bothering to react and actually consider the repercussions of that statement, Calum just pulled him in all over again.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so unbelievably SORRY that this has taken so long to update, but I absolutely promise I am doing my best to get these chapters written n published for you guys :) life and stuff has just been a little bit hectic and stuff but I'll stop complaining now, I hope you enjoy!! Shit kinda goes down in this one hahaha oops

The room is warm and stuffy when Calum wakes up, only barely registering the slight itch of the tag of his shirt on the back of his neck where it's ridden up in his sleep. His hood is up over his head where's he's curled onto his left side.

His head aches dully, but there's no way he could forget last night.

 _Luke attaches his lips to Calum's throat as they stumble blindly backwards, Calum's back ending pressed up against Luke's wardrobe._  
He moans quietly as they move together in the darkness, his hand lacing it's way through soft blonde hair.   
Everything he sees and smells and hears and feels is Luke, and it's so blissful that Calum forgets entirely about the consequences of what they're doing.   
This is what he's wanted, for as long as he can remember, and he's not going to let conscience ruin it.

Calum's foot twitches slightly under the sheets.

 _He's embarrassingly turned on, but so is Luke, and Calum pants one last time before Luke's soft lips connect with Calum's parted ones, knocking the air out of his lungs all over again. It's all Calum wants—something brand new that he can't stop craving—and when Luke pulls back to cup his face, he can't help but whine. It feels like his first time, although it's anything but._  
Luke smiles but instead of it being smug, there's something like adoration mixed in there too; something which has Calum's heart fluttering delicately in his chest whereas before, it'd been pounding like it was trying to escape.   
Silently, they move to the bed, and Calum finally sobers up enough to wonder if this is going to go any further.

_Rationally, he knows it needs to stop here, but before he can say anymore, they're lying side by side on the king-sized bed with Luke's lips back on his. His whole body is trembling, but Luke doesn't comment on it.  
Calum moans quietly into the younger boy's mouth, hands balling into fists in the front of Luke's shirt and pulling him closer._

_Luke pulls back for air after a while, and Calum almost reluctantly seizes the opportunity._  
"We can't," he gasps out, and instead of being surprised, the corners of Luke's lips just twitch up sadly, like he's known that all along.   
He nods, remaining silent, his finger tracing Calum's collarbone thoughtfully, blue eyes glistening even in the dark.   
"You're right," he murmurs, "I want you, and I know I can't have you, but..."

_He struggles to find the words to say, for a minute, and so instead just finds purchase upon Calum's lips again—Calum is perfectly unwilling to stop it once more._

_It's so much softer this time, though, and Luke's hands don't stop stroking Calum's hot skin, gently, carefully, like he's something fragile that might break, and the butterflies in his stomach erupt. They lay, kissing like that until they both eventually fall asleep._

He's almost scared to peer over the fold of the white duvet that obscures his vision—scared that he'll find Luke there—or, perhaps even worse, no Luke at all.

But there he lays, all glowing and unreal in comparison to Calum's groggy morning haze, his blonde hair curly and his long eyelashes fanned out along his creamy cheeks.

He almost wants to reach out and touch his skin because it looks so impossibly soft, but now that he's thinking (marginally) straight again, he knows they already went too far last night. What would Michael and Ashton say if they found out?

Their hands were still intertwined under the duvet, and Calum could still feel the lingering press of Luke's lips against his, could still take him in with every sense—Luke had practically cheated on the other two, if their relationship was even that serious—he was too tired to ask, and far too tired to care, either.

He soon lost count of how long he lay there, simply observing, watching the way the dust swirled around in the beam of light that fell directly across Luke's exposed collar bone, and again, he wanted to feel it underneath his fingertips.

His only arm out of the duvet and not intertwined with Calum's hand was curled so close to Calum's face, had he reached forward only slightly, he would've been able to caress it with his own lips.

And he wanted to do all that and more. So, so badly.

It was as he stared, in a sort of trance, eyes tracing Luke's body, that Luke seemingly woke up—he saw Luke's body shift first, his limbs stretching slowly out, his leg moving from where it was entangled with Calum's own—and then he saw those blue eyes slowly flutter open, and that smile he'd grown so accustomed to spread across the lips he'd been kissing only just last night.

He returned it, small and undeniably scared, and Luke seemed to sense it, his eyebrows twitching into a tiny frown as he reached up to brush Calum's hair back from his face, almost—dare he say it— _lovingly_.

"Good morning," Luke said, hand lingering in Calum's hair before drawing back, but his fingers staying laced with Calum's under the sheets.   
"Morning," he whispered back, and Luke laughed.   
"Why're you whispering?"  
Calum just shrugged, and smiled some more, but at the same time he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and curl up and pretend this had all been a dream, because as much as he'd loved him and Luke being together like that in the moment, he knew perfectly well that nothing good could come of this.

"Sleep well?" Luke asked.  
It was a simple enough question, but Calum swallowed thickly—when they were like this, all soft touches and caring questions—it was almost effortless to pretend they were actually a couple.

He nodded stiffly, because truthfully, he had, but now the events playing from last night were burning bright in front of his eyes again.

Luke's eyebrow quirked again, but he didn't push any further.

"I'm going to go get some breakfast. You want any?"

Calum knew he should plead with Luke to stay so that they could talk about this, and not just gloss over it and pretend as if it never happened as they always did—but he was so, so weak for him.   
"Yeah, please." He wanted to cry when Luke rolled out of bed, their hands slipping apart, but instead he just gritted his teeth. "Bring it here when it's ready, yeah?" He asked through a forced smile, and Luke rolled his eyes.   
"Alright, but only because I love you." He winked, and left the room.

Calum wondered if Luke even remembered last night, or if he was playing with him on purpose. Either way, it hurt.

He didn't move from the bed, curling up tighter, pulling his hood over his head further, blocking out the light that was far too bright for his excruciating hangover. How Luke had just rolled out of bed with such ease, Calum didn't know—unless Luke hadn't been as drunk as Calum had thought.

He rubbed a hand over his face, his chest tight, and his entire body impossibly tired for the amount he'd been sleeping for the past few days.

He could hear Luke clattering around in the kitchen, and could only just catch glimpses of him across the hallway where the wooden door to Luke's bedroom had been left slightly ajar. He could see the way his broad, firm back flexed and how the shadows only served to emphasise every single movement of his muscles, and Calum would be lying if he said his mouth didn't water a little at the prospect of this actually being _real_.

If it were, Calum would prise himself out of bed, sneak up behind him, wrap his arms around Luke's waist from behind and kiss the skin of his shoulders, kiss his neck, kiss his jawline all scruffy and stubbled and grounding, run his hands through the curly blond hair and tell him how much he loved him. And then maybe, Ashton and Michael would be there too. And maybe they would join in. And then maybe, finally—everything would be perfect.

But as it was, Calum felt like an intruder in his best friend's home, and reluctantly, quietly, he swung his legs over the edge of the king-sized bed, scanning the room for his shoes. He couldn't stand the feeling for much longer; he needed to leave, despite the promise of one of Luke's infamous, amazing pancakes which he could smell wafting through the apartment.

He rubbed his eyes again, startling only slightly when his left foot tapped something firm accidentally, only to find his old pair of converse resting at the foot of the bed like he only toed them off right before he got in, far too intoxicated and engulfed in Luke to do anything more.

He'd just managed to pull one on and was fumbling with the laces, when, however, a knocking sound rang through the apartment, and Calum froze.   
Luke stopped moving in the kitchen, and then Calum heard plates being placed down on the counter, and bare feet padding across the tiles to the hallway, evidently to answer the door.

He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who Luke was going to answer it to—and slowly, silently, he toed off his shoe once more.

"It's Ash and Mike," Luke called softly to him, confirming his suspicions before opening the door.   
Calum's heart stopped in his chest.

Over the rush of blood in his ears, he just makes out the sound of a kiss, and he wills himself not to panic.   
"Hey, babe," Ashton's voice comes, and Calum's certain he's heard Ashton talk like that before—perhaps it's just wishful thinking. Either way, his tone is soft and gentle and full of love, and he wills the lump in his throat to disappear.   
"Missed you last night," Michael says, all traces of hostility towards Luke now completely vanished from his voice, "you leave early?"  
"Yeah, I, uh- listen-"  
"Is Cal here?" From where he's finally stood up from the bed, he catches a glimpse of Ashton peering towards the sofa in Luke's living room, like he half expects Calum to be crashed out there. In reality, Calum had slept in Luke's bed, with Luke.   
"Yeah, we missed him too," Michael chimes in, and before Luke can respond, Calum walks straight out of Luke's room, his limbs moving of their own accord.

He watches their eyes widen, and then, after a second or two, narrow considerably.

"Oh," Michael says after the unbearably thick and heavy silence has dragged out to the point where none of them can stand it.

"Hey," Calum says sheepishly, trying desperately to remain as casual as possible, "sorry I didn't let you guys know I was leaving, I just, uh...I was kinda tired."

They stand in silence for a moment longer; Calum can't make eye contact with any of them apart from Ashton, who just looks sad. Calum doesn't know why—maybe it's because Ashton is considerably wiser than the rest of them, and already knows where this is going.

"You slept in there?" Michael nods to Luke's bedroom, and Calum flinches at how loud and wobbly his voice is. It sends an involuntary shiver down his spine.

"Yeah, I...yeah. Just kinda crashed out, I guess..." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, keeping his head bowed, but even as Michael's talking to Calum, not once does his icy gaze leave Luke.

"You just crashed out," he repeats, disbelievingly.

"Yes," Calum confirms instantly, at the same time Luke solemnly says, "no."

It echoes around the room, and Calum squeezes his eyes shut, wondering when his little daydream turned into a nightmare.

Michael's hands flex at his sides, whilst Ashton just shuffles, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else just as badly as Calum does.

"No?" Michael says challengingly, but it comes out as little more than a whisper.

Luke hangs his head, but Calum can still barely stand to watch, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.

"We kissed."

The air in the room seems to shift entirely, going from uncomfortable to unbearable, and Ashton makes a hurt noise, his eyes flicking to Calum like he's willing it not to be true.

"You're gay?" Ashton finally chokes, and Calum blushes.

"I....uh..."

"You kissed?" Michael says, his voice scarily quiet, and yet full of tension like the out-of-tune strings of a guitar.

" _I_ kissed _him_ ," Calum rushes out, desperately trying to fix the rapidly growing rift between them, but Michael ignores him entirely, still focused on Luke. "It was me, I'm sorry, I was drunk-"

"Shut up," Michael snaps at him, and Calum falls silent, his cheeks burning.   
His best friend softens then, a little, surprisingly. "I'm...just...please—don't," he pleads, and Calum nods.

"Is that true?" Ashton asks Luke, avoiding Calum's eyes. "He kissed you?"

Calum tries to plead silently with Luke, trying to communicate that he really doesn't have the energy to do this now, or ever, and that everything would be so much simpler if the blame was just placed on Calum. That this was his fault. But much to his dismay, Luke shakes his head no, and Calum feels his heart sink.

"No," Luke says, "I kissed him."

Neither Ashton nor Michael react, and it's incredibly disconcerting.

"I'm sorry-"  
"That isn't enough," Ashton cuts in quickly, and Calum can see his chest heaving. "Is that all you did? Just kissed?"

"That's it," Luke breathes out, "I promise."

The room falls silent again, and Calum can hear his heart racing. He wants the ground to swallow him up. He wants to be anywhere than where he is now, despite them being his favourite people on the planet—but then again, that's _why_ he wants to disappear.

"This whole time," Michael says, his voice wobbly and his eyes teary, "you've always been the one who said it could never work. You...you said he would _never_ be ours, and then you just go and take it for yourself..."

Luke looks close to tears, but Calum feels anger bubbling up inside, because Michael's talking about him like an object who had no say in the matter. In reality, no matter how shamefully, Calum had enjoyed and encouraged that kiss just as much as Luke had.

"He didn't _take_ anything," Calum hisses, and Michael finally looks at him, surprised. "I...it was me, too."

"But why would you do that?" Ashton says, sounding just as puzzled as he does hurt. "You knew about us..."

"You know why," Calum says, his vision beginning to blur, because he can't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. It's all coming out, and he can't stop it. They're all staring at him, and he digs his nails into his palm as a solitary tear falls, and he ducks his head again because he can't bear it. It's too much.

"I don't understand," someone says gently, but Calum can't even tell who it is over the rush of blood in his ears.

"I..." he heaves in a ragged breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "I love you..." he sobs, almost inaudibly, but he can tell they've heard when there's a minor collective intake of breath. "All of you."

The silence drags on for what feels like hours, heavy and suffocating and constricting, and he wipes his tears away on the shoulder of the hoodie he'd slept in, only to realise a split second later that it was Luke's, and then the tears just returned.

"Cal..." Ashton says, and it's so full of sympathy and something ridiculously gentle that it finally snaps Calum's heartstrings, and he has to leave.

"Sorry," he mumbles, before shooting out of the door to the apartment, ignoring their calls for him to _stay_.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....honestly, I think you know what's coming. I cannot express how ridiculously sorry I am that I've left it like 2 months to update, and how infrequent I've been with updating. I know I keep apologising with almost every update now and I think it's probably become pretty obvious now that future updates just won't be as consistent as they were when I started writing this... Again, I am so sorry and I'm literally so so SO grateful for everyone who's stuck with this and left lovely comments (which motivate me like CRAZY) because I really don't deserve you <3 I hope you enjoy this—I rewrote this chapter so many times and I'm still not happy with it but I honestly really enjoyed constructing the dynamic between Mali and Calum and found it weirdly refreshing too lol  
> Anyways, again—I am sorry, so very sorry—and please enjoy! Your feedback and just knowing people are still reading this means the absolute universe <3

After promptly running out like the coward he is, Calum's not entirely sure how he ends up face to face with Mali.

His sister had agreed to meet him on his break in LA—not that the surprise wasn't welcome, but nonetheless, he'd been sure she'd been busy with work still. Yet there she was, pulling a suitcase out of the taxi just as he walked up to the driveway, rubbing at his blotchy cheeks and teary eyes so that their first time seeing each other in months didn't have to be so miserable. Regardless of the fact Calum had just bitterly and unwillingly admitted his love to the three people in the world who couldn't possibly love him back, just seeing her cursing at the taxi driver as he shouted at her to hurry up where her suitcase had gotten stuck in the boot, and the way she flipped her hair indignantly and placed her hand on her hip like she always did when she didn't get her way had brought a small smile to his face already. He reminded himself that in the world of ever-changing madness, Mali was the one constant he could rely on.

"Here, I got it," he said gently, coming up behind her and manoeuvring the case out of the car.   
"Hey-" she started, surprised and still in a mild temper, before turning around and letting the scowl drop right off her face, replacing it instantly with a grin.   
"Have a nice day, lady!" The driver spat angrily out of the window as he drove off, and Mali flipped him off followed by a string of expletives which Calum wasn't sure even Michael would be able to match, but the smile was still on her face as she turned back around.

"Hey, _you_ ," she laughed before drawing him into one of her infamous hugs, and Calum melted instantly, craning down to burying his face in her shoulder.   
"Missed you," he mumbled, and Mali ruffled his hair playfully.   
"Missed you too, baby bro," she returned cheerfully, before pulling away to beam at him.

"What are you even doing here?" Calum smiled disbelievingly with a shake of his head, and she shrugged, picking her bag up off the ground.   
"Got done sooner than I was expecting," she said simply, before wrinkling her nose. "You stink of alcohol," she told him, and he gave her an exasperated look.   
" _Thanks_ ," he drawled sarcastically, and her smile returned like it was permanently stuck there and would never leave again.   
"Cmon," she tucked her arm through his, "I wanna go see mum and dad."

Inside the house, Joy gives Mali a bone-crushing hug and so does David. As Mali tells them all about her flight there, still stood in the entrance to their home, Joy discreetly retreats to stand next to Calum, a hand gently squeezing his shoulder, almost protectively—and that's when he's hit with the unnerving feeling that something isn't right. Like they're all in on something, and he's the only one who's not been told.

Nonetheless, he ignores it, because he's finding it difficult to remember the last time they were all together like this, and he's leaving for America soon, anyway. He isn't going to ruin Mali coming home with his steadily increasing paranoia, and so lets it settle uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach instead.

Mali insists on having the first shower, claiming she felt gross after her flight, and Calum was too tired to protest despite having slept in the same clothes he was wearing right then.   
In the meantime, he flips down onto his bed and scrolls aimlessly through his phone. It's pointless, because none of them have messaged him, or tweeted or posted anything at all—and Calum finds himself wondering when everything other than Ashton, Luke and Michael became just pointless. It's like an obsession that he can't escape no matter how hard he tries, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

At some point he drifted off, jumping out of his skin when Mali rapped quickly at his door.   
"Shower's yours!" She called, and he groaned almost silently before heaving himself up, opening the door to the hallway. She was stood in the doorway to her old room, hair dripping wet and the faintest hint of black makeup still smudged under her eyes. She frowned at him when she saw him, cocking her head to the side.   
"You been sleeping or crying?" She asked, and when he caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror, he had to admit, he looked a mess.   
"Sleeping," he admitted truthfully, stifling a legitimate yawn just in case she saw it as him trying to sell his point.   
She stared at him a second longer, her deep brown eyes that mirrored his own slowly filling with concern, like cold water into a sink. He resisted the urge to shudder under her gaze, but there was no denying how uncomfortable he felt.   
"Have a shower, Cal," she said gently, softly, before disappearing into her own room, and he felt a lump creeping up into his throat. Mali rarely ever talked to him like that—sarcasm was the usual language they spoke, to each other, and the seriousness and sincerity of her tone set him instantly on edge.

What had been intended as a power shower ended up lasting more like half an hour, and Calum supposed it was actually better that Mali had showered first (despite the long strands of hair stuck all over the shower wall), because by the end of it, the steady stream of almost scaldingly hot water had dissipated into nothing more than a pitiful blast of icy cold, yet he barely even noticed.

Their faces of shock, crumpling into something like agony, still seem to be swimming around before his eyes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he stands still in the shower, finally turning off the steady stream of water, head hung between his shoulders as the icy droplets trickled down his back. He pushed the hair back from his forehead, thick and returning to its normal curliness already, and—when was the last time he had it cut? He doesn't remember. He's been to caught up in everything else, and plus, he loves the way it feels when one of the others runs their fingers through it—not that he'd admit it.

Once he'd finally forced himself out of the bathroom and dressed, Mali entered his room without knocking just as he'd finished half-heartedly pulling a pair of jeans on.   
"If you'd been a minute earlier..." he warned, but she just smiled at him, sitting on the edge of his bed. Staring at her in confusion, he noted her damp hair and lack of makeup she usually wore, but honestly, he preferred it that way—reminded him of when they were kids. She also had her shoes and jacket on. "Going somewhere?" He raised an eyebrow.   
"Just out," she said simply, "wanna come with?"  
To tell the truth, going out was the last thing he wanted to do, but he hadn't seen her in so long, it would've been impossible to decline. "Yeah, sure, let me just...give me a minute?"  
"Sure thing," she smiled warmly before disappearing from his room.

Already Mali was being clingy, and sure, maybe that was only to be expected—but he still couldn't help shake the feeling that there was something she wasn't telling him. Just turning up out of the blue and refusing to leave him alone for any longer than ten minutes at a time was suspicious, to say the least.

"Anywhere specific in mind?" He asks as they walk down the driveway, Joy's firmly planted kiss still fresh on his cheek.   
"I just missed this place, is all," she replies, bleach blonde hair fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze. "Missed you, too."  
He laughs awkwardly; it's a struggle to remember the last time he and Mali were properly sentimental with one another. She laughs back, elbowing him.   
"Beach?" She suggests, and he nods.   
"Beach."

It'd always been one of his favourite places to go, as a kid, and whilst revisiting the beach with the pier and the soft gold and the infinitely blue waves stirred up memories of him and his family, Michael was the first memory that resurfaced as his feet sunk down in the sand, finding its way into his shoes instantly. This had been their place—they'd come here with Ashton and Luke, too, but he'd known Michael the longest. Michael splashing him or pulling him into the water and holding him under for so long Calum was sure he was going to drown, and then Michael apologising profusely because he'd always been slightly...spontaneous, but Calum laughing about it—once he'd finished choking on saltwater. The sun on the back of his neck burnt slightly, and Calum wished he'd heeded David's advice to put sun cream on, but at the same time welcomed the distraction. Thoughts of the others were hard to handle, at the moment.

"You alright?" Mali asked, gently, slowly lowering her phone from where she'd taken a photo of the midday sun over the sea, raising her hand to shield her eyes to stare at him where he had his hands in his pockets, kicking at the sand under their feet unhappily.

"Yeah. I'm fine, Mali, really," he insisted when she didn't look convinced.   
"You're not," she said softly, and she suddenly sounded ten years older and wiser than she actually was. "If you were fine, Cal, then mum wouldn't have been on the phone telling me how worried she was about you and asking me what to do. I wouldn't even _be_ here."

He'd known it, but the admission still had the anger and guilt swelling up inside him.   
Not only had both of them gone behind his back, but Mali had upped and left her work just for him. It wasn't fair, and it certainly wasn't what he'd asked for.   
"Why would you do that?" He snapped, glaring at her. "I didn't need you to come here. I _don't_ need you. I'm fine."  
"Maybe it isn't just all about you, Cal," she retaliated, her temper still just as short as his was despite her obvious advantage in maturity. "Ever since you've got back all mum and dad have wanted to do is spend time with you, and you've just been moping about," she hissed.   
He glowered at her for a little longer before her words eventually sank in, and slowly but surely, he felt the guilt and regret intensify. He didn't want anyone worrying about him, but that was only to be expected when he'd been acting the way he was.   
"Listen, Mal-"  
"The others are worried about you too, y'know," she interrupts quickly, calmer all of a sudden, softer. "Ashton called me the other day. Said you hadn't been acting yourself, lately. I think there was something else to it, but he wouldn't tell me."

He scoffed unintentionally, and then grimaced. "Yeah, you could say that," he mumbled, ducking his head.   
"That was what made me come back, Cal. Ashton—Luke, Michael—they know you better than anyone does. Even me."  
Despite wanting to argue that point, he couldn't. It was inevitably true—after having spent almost everyday for five years with them, they'd formed some invisible connection which could never be broken, and they knew more about each other than they'd perhaps have liked to.   
"So are you going to tell me? Mum mentioned something about a girl, or-"  
"It's not a girl!" He cried out, suddenly, unexpectedly, and her eyes widened for a split second before she regained her composure, cocking her head to the side curiously as if she was trying to read him like a book. He sighed. "Not...not a _girl_ ," he explained himself, slowly, and watched as her eyes eventually widened once more.   
"Oh," she breathed out, before settling down in the sand and patting the space beside her. "Sit," she told him, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she looked out at the sea like she wasn't even surprised, anymore.   
He hesitated before doing as she said, pulling his legs up to his chest ever so slightly, almost subconsciously, his elbows resting atop his knees.

"That's new," she says, uncharacteristically uncertain, and he just lets out a half-hearted, bitter laugh. "So...a guy?"  
He shrugs. "You could say that."  
"Vague. _Mysterious_ ," she wiggles her eyebrows, and he laughs despite himself. "Soo...which one?"  
"Huh?"  
"Which one is it?"  
He frowns at her. "I don't-"  
"Ashton, Luke or Michael?" She asks, a mischievous glint in her eye, and he splutters.   
"I- how did you-?"  
"Oh, cmon, Cal, I mean—you spend almost every day with these guys—and they understand you better than anyone else and they're smart and funny and _attractive_ -"  
"Alright, alright, I get the picture."  
"What I mean to say is- well- of course it'd be one of them. It's only natural, really."  
He stares blankly at her, but at the same time supposes she has a valid point.   
"So...which one?" She repeats her question, and Calum can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage as he squeezes a handful of sand in an effort to calm himself down a bit. He stares down at the space between his feet, pebbles and tiny bits of wood sticking out of the gold sand, and then out to the ocean—the way the sun shines out across the waves so impossibly serenely, Calum is almost jealous. He feels anything but serene, panic settling in a little bit. He'd already told Mali far, far more than he'd been intending, but was he really about to sit there and admit to her what he couldn't even admit to himself?

"Uhh..." he clamped down on his lip, fingernails biting crescent moons into his palms as he struggled with the horrific internal conflict. How was he supposed to tell her that it wasn't just one? He let out a small, cold laugh at the thought, and Mali gave him a strange look. He had to give her credit for being so impossibly patient. "What if I told you...um.."

And this was it. This was where everything he'd been hiding finally came out. He'd already admitted it earlier, though, so it should've been much easier the second time around. It wasn't. He still felt as if he was going to be sick, and he could feel her deep eyes boring into him, waiting for an answer. Guaranteed, as wise as Mali was, nothing would be able to prepare her for his answer.

"Maybe, it's, like...all of them?" He breathed, and it came out as more of a quiet whisper, barely audible over the rush of the waves against the shore.

He doesn't dare look up at her—he's too scared what expression he's going to find on her face—disgust, confusion...disappointment? He knows better than that, and instantly regrets doubting Mali's unconditional love even for a second, because she deserves recognition for that at the very least, but the fear still runs cold through his veins.

He doesn't realise he's crying until he flinches away from the hand she places gently on his shoulder, and he gasps shudderingly, finally looking up at her through the tears in his eyes.

She's smiling at him—of course she is, it's Mali—and evidently it's fine, it's alright. And yet, he can't seem to stop his hands from shaking where they're wrapped desperately around his legs, making himself as small as possible.

She laughs softly, sadly, and pulls him closer.   
"Don't cry, Cal. Please don't cry," she says, but she can't stop smiling. "It's okay. Shh, it's alright."  
"Why're you laughing?" He sniffs, and she just smiles wider. "You don't...you're not...?"  
Using her strange sisterly sixth sense she seems to pick up on his insecurity before he can even finish his sentence. "Don't be stupid," she says firmly, her hands stroking his side reassuringly. "I just...it's funny, is all. It's always been the four of you, so it makes sense..." she trails off thoughtfully.   
He doesn't respond, but the tears have stopped falling.   
"Trust you to be complicated and fall in love with three people, though," she teases, and he rolls his eyes.   
"Hardly my fault," he grumbles, but it's light-hearted and Mali knows it, squeezing him tighter.   
"That was really brave of you to tell me that, Cal," she says with something like pride on her face, and he blushes. "What're you going to do about it?" She frowns, and he swallows over the lump in his throat.   
Sure, maybe he's a step closer to finally accepting that he's in love, but that doesn't mean he's figured out what he's going to do about it.   
"I have no idea," he finally admits with a sigh, and she bites her lip.   
"Have you told them?" She says carefully, like she was worried he was going to snap at her again, despite it obviously being far less tense between them now.   
"Yeah."  
"And? What'd they say?"  
"I...nothing. I didn't really give them a chance to before I left," he explains upon seeing the puzzlement painting her face.   
"Oh...and you haven't talked to them since?"  
"Nope."  
"Do you think...might they feel the same way?"  
"They all feel that way about each other, so—no. I doubt it." He knows that's a lie, but it's easier to pretend.   
"Oh, _Cal_. I'm sorry...I wish I knew what to tell you..."  
"Don't be, it's my fault."  
"That's ridiculous and you know it. Like you said, you can't help who you fall in love with." After a pause, she continued, "y'know, though, if anything, I think them being together would only make them more likely to love you back. If three, why not four? You're just as important to them as they are to you."  
"That doesn't mean they love me, though."  
"I don't know," Mali shrugs. "I think you should talk to them. Stop _running_ , Cal. No matter what the outcome is, I promise you'll feel better about it all."  
He nodded; what she was saying made sense. If he kept avoiding it forever, he'd ruin the band forever, and he'd destroy whatever bond they had left.   
"You're right," he said quietly after the thoughtful silence had dragged on for long enough between them, and shot her a grateful look. "Thank you, Mal. And I'm sorry. I did need this...needed you."  
"Don't apologise. Anytime," she said, kissing the top of his head gently, and he was reminded why he loved his sister so much.

He didn't want to talk to them—didn't want them to confront him about what he'd finally admitted ever, if he could help it, but he knew it was inevitable. He wasn't hopeful that they'd tell him they loved him back—at this point, the most he could hope for was them telling him they still actually wanted to be his _friend_ , let alone anything more.

As the sun shone down on the both of them sat together in the sand, though, salt on his dry lips and on his cheeks where the heat had dried his tears already, Calum stared out at the deep, choppy sea and was met with the sinking feeling that maybe he was _too late_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked it!! (I'm a sucker for comments :))


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